But I wouldn't want to live there
by Ninjer-8492
Summary: An ongoing sequel to "A Nice Place To Visit". Bastila and Juhani travel back to a strange parallel universe and end up embroiled in the murder investigation of that dimension's Revan, but find themselves racing against time to track down three escaped prisoners with the help of a version of the Jedi Exile in order to preven an all out war from breaking out between Jedi factions.
1. Chapter 1

Jedi Civil War-Coruscant, winter season.

Bastila Shan, twenty-one years of age, with fine skin, brown hair that was done in an elaborate set of small pigtails, looked at herself in the mirror as she finished putting on the tight fitting beige civilian wear with orange trimming on the front and a long orange sash beneath it, Her blue eyes blinked a moment. She was uncomfortable when not in robes, but the military insisted she travel in civilian wear to avoid being less easily identified.

She was, after all, seemingly the only hope the Republic had.

After checking herself in the mirror, she compulsively examined her weapon, a light saber in the standard hilt size, Exar Kun style, but with two flat emitters on either end, which gave the blade a flat appearance when activated. At least it, would have, had the power crystal she had scavenged from a com-link not finally given out after over-use. She was amazed the low quality crystal had held out as long as it had, especially given the repeated attempts by the Sith to assassinate her.

She needed to replace it, but she didn't want to use the naturally grown crystals from caves that the Jedi kept in their storehouses.

She was in the market for something a bit more...exotic.

And if she wanted something exotic at the dead of night, in the middle of Coruscant's winter seasonal, she knew of only one person who could give her what she was asking for.

Her mind made up, Bastila put on her simple, brown leather boots, threw on a heavy brown coat that the temple seamstresses knitted for those going out in rough weather, and slipped out of her sparse quarters and down the halls of her Coruscant temple. She passed by no one as she made her way to the entrance.

She had to admit, getting out and getting some fresh air had been at least a good idea, as she stared absently at the cloudy grey sky, gently depositing snow on the transport platforms. She could occasionally make out some stars, and wondered how many stars had battles being fought around them, at this very instant. Bastila guessed it was too many.

She had gone back to Coruscant to rest and recuperate after the Battle of Deralia, where she had used her battle meditation to defeat the entire Sith 7th fleet, using her gift to drive every soldier on the Sith side into a raging, rabid like state, similar to the dreaded (But entirely mythical) Fast Zombie.

Darth Revan had raised the bounty on her head to over a million credits as a result. Half that if she was brought in dead. At least she knew she had made Revan mad, so she didn't mind it all that much. Besides, word of her ability to hijack people's minds had gotten around. Even the most seasoned veteran bounty hunter wouldn't dare take a shot.

As she walked past some children having a snowball fight on the upper platforms attached to the buildings, for an instant and no more she reminisced about the "Other" Coruscant she had been to, wondered how their version of the Jedi were doing. She quickly put it out of her mind though. The Order had confiscated the equipment that had allowed her to travel there.

As she spotted the turbo lift to take her to the under works, she smiled at the thought of the paintings they had allowed her to keep.

The Under works, as it had been for years, was a dark seemingly infinite series of alleys and pavilions, housing or hiding whatever vice one sought. Bastila's vices tonight included asking for a crystal that was normally not allowed for use in a light saber, and asking for it from a man the Jedi didn't like any of their own contacting unless they had no other choice.

But she knew Cambul Marek. He was dangerous, and his sanity had been in question for many years, but he was nothing if not reliable.

She followed the proscribed route through the alleys her underworld contact had told her about, winding through tight passages filled with steam and water dripping off pipes, like she had entered into another world altogether.

Passing through a veil of smoke she stopped in front of an old, old building, made of stone, with tall, cone shapes spires that jutted into the darkness. It was partially collapsed on the right, little more than rubble. All of the stained glass windows were busted, but she could see a faint orange glow from the innermost darkness of the building.

She went forward, checking her pockets to make sure she had everything she needed to pay the...man.

She stepped through the wrecked front entrance. Her eyes watered as she got an overwhelming whiff of the presence of alcohol and glitterstim.

She found him kneeling in front of a giant square shaped furnace, black in color, but containing designs of flowers and whales on its surface, whispering things too low for her to make out.

He was a disgusting sight. Little more the a torso and head lashed with cybernetics, they joined what was left of his flesh diagonally, a series of primitive gears and glowing battery rods surrounded by a transparent shell. His mouth and eyes were missing, replaced with an antique microphone shaped vocal synthesizer recessed deep into his face, green ocular sensors implanted deep into his metal rimmed eye sockets. He had no hair on his scarred scalp, and his skin was pale from lack of proper blood flow. He wore a series of animal skins in a toga-like design as he knelt, holding in his hands what looked like a crucifix with a wide bottom lined with glass beads. The center of the cross surrounded by a circle carved to look like a wreath of vines and leaves. At the center of the shiny, wood finished object lay a transparent sphere filled with a pale green light. The work space was clean, and fastidiously maintained, but elsewhere she could see empty bottles and discarded hypos. Cambul was not only one of the most dangerous weapon smiths the Order had ever trained, he was also a notorious abuser of substances.

"Bastila," he said simply, his original dry lighthearted voice twisted by an electronic hiss. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"I need your help," Bastila said, slowly approaching, lest she cause his notorious paranoia to get the better of him.

"Help costs."

"I can pay you. I've saved the stipends the order has given me."

"Bassie," he chuckled, turning to face her. "Of what use are credits in the hand of a knave such as I, since I do not wish to spend it on wisdom?"

Bastila sighed, reached into her coat and tossed a brick worth of a glittering amber substance his way.

"Dagobah vine resin. Your favorite."

A hand covered in wires and a metal brace snatched for the highly illegal substance. "Your consideration of my needs is, as always, highly appreciated. Now, what is it you desire?"

"A new crystal. I'm told you can get your hands on a Quixoni."

A tall order, even at the best of times. You do know that almost all of that kind of crystal has either been sent to private collections or are resting in another's hilt?"

"Don't give me the runaround, Marek. I was told you were the person I needed to speak to."

She couldn't tell if he was glowering as he stared. "Like a fool, you find no pleasure in understanding, yet delight in uttering your follies. If anyone could score that for you it would be me. But I haven't run across one of those in years."

"You and your proverbs," she muttered.

"Why is it so essential to have a Quixoni of all things anyway? Other crystals can do a more than adequate job of focusing the blade-"

"Not for this kind," she said handing him her light saber hilt.

Mechanical fingers brushed lightly over the weapon. "Hmmm...flat blade. I see your trouble. You need a very specific type of crystal. What were you using before?"

"A com-link crystal."

The cyborg raised the remainder of an eyebrow, clearly appalled at such a travesty. "When did you learn how to construct light sabers? Yesterday?"

Bastila tried a proverb of her own. "Your lips bring strife, and invite many a beating."

"Your wickedness is followed naturally by your contempt," Cambul replied off-handedly, rising. "Don't try and out-proverb me. I got a million of them. Why make a flat blade?"

"It...was during an emergency situation," Bastila answered carefully. He'd think she was lying if she had told him the actual circumstances.

Cambul stared. "Emergency, eh. Things are making a little sense now. Got separated from your main weapon?"

Bastila nodded. "I've adopted this one as its replacement."

"Exar Kun style, eh? Can't imagine that went over too well with your Jedi Masters, unless their policy toward naked aggression changed when I wasn't looking," Cambul somehow managed an electronic sigh. "If I'm going to give you a new crystal, I might as well give your blade a once over as well. Believe me, Hastily constructed weapons can screw up at precisely the wrong moment," the hideous cyborg articulated before picking up the weapon and going over to a worktable next to his forge. He immediately took a hydro spanner and a fusion cutter and deftly cut a cross section of Bastila's double bladed weapon open. "Do you have your original weapon? I would like to examine and compare your design preferences."

Bastila tossed him her old light saber, a simple, undecorated brown leather-wrapped hilt with a silver, bowl shaped emitter.

"Jedi these days," he muttered. "No flare at all. Just function. In my day we used to take pride in craftsmanship. They used to heap praise on artisans like me."

"If you cleaned yourself up and kicked the drugs and booze, I'm sure they'd welcome you back," Bastila suggested helpfully, removing her coat and kneeling on the clean part of the floor to meditate.

"I'm already suspect in their eyes. I'd rather have a vial of glitterstim and the peace and quiet of my chapel than a good meal in the den of strife the Temple has become. If you ever decide to wise up, Bastila, you will to. To think I tried to be a humble pacifist once," he replied, peering into the innards. "Just as I thought. Sloppy and with substandard parts never designed to perform in this manner. I'd expect this sort of work from a youngling, not the only hope of the Republic."

"I see you still follow the news. I'm amazed, frankly."

"My heart is discerning, and seeketh knowledge-when I'm not hallucinating that is," he mumbled, absorbed in his examination before he shot straight up and turned to her. "Wait. You ARE real, right? I'm not just imagining working on this weapon?"

"Yes, Cambul, I'm real," she huffed in annoyance, eyes still closed.

"A pity," Cambul said, going back to work as he started removing parts.

Bastila opened her eyes. "How is that a pity?" she demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Because I was just about ready to embrace the delusion that you didn't have any clothes on," he cackled.

Bastila gave him a rude hand gesture before closing her eyes. "Now I know why the Order considers you suspect."

Bastila examined the weapon Cambul handed her.

He had taken a few liberties, having replaced almost all of the parts she had used to make her double-weapon with parts from her old light saber, even replacing the power coupling ports she had used for the emitters with custom made emitters from his workshop. the design on both ends consisted of small, pea-sized stones with bands of green, red and orange running across a white surface-candy jasper by the looks of it-were set at the ends of a gently looping, gilded cross guard made from black metal that tapered off into a narrow, but solid feeling stem that connected to the hilt proper. The brown leather had been replaced by a white material with an image of the Orders Sword and Wings symbol in red stitched into it.

"All control mechanisms are set internally. It must be activated with your mind," he explained.

Bastila concentrated, remembering how the exiled Jedi Valia Renn had prefered internalized control mechanisms in her weapon.

Sun fire yellow blades snaked out, flat and bearing a diamond shaped tip on either end. She gave it a twirl. Perfect balance. "The Order made a grave error letting you go," she complimented, genuine admiration in her tone, as her eyes were transfixed.

"They didn't let me go. I left them," he replied. "They had me make dozens of WMD's solely to terrorize our enemies and yet when our enemies were vanquished because of my work, I was questioned for what I had created. Let me tell you, that is the last time I manufacture a suitcase nuclear weapon without pay."

Bastila raised her eyebrows at the cyborg, he returned the gaze, nothing in his posture indicating he had been joking.

"I'd better get out of here," she said, changing the subject. "The Master's don't like it when I sneak out like this."

"Of course. If you ever feel like escaping from it all, I have plenty here that will allow just that," he said, gesturing to the myriad examples of narcotics he kept around the place.

"I don't feel like giving up on life just yet," Bastila replied as politely as possible, before gathering her coat and leaving Cambul to his darkness, disturbed.

"Bastila!" he called out, just before she reached the exit.

"Yes?" she asked, turning.

"Three warnings," he said simply. "An evil man is bent only on rebellion; a merciless official will be sent against him. It is not good to punish an innocent man nor to flog officials for their integrity. He who covers over an offence promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends."

"Okayyy," she trailed, confused. "I'll try to remember that."

"See that you do," he replied, before retreating to his furnace, and kneeling with his crucifix-possibly a disguised light foil, if Bastila was guessing right.

Bastila departed the ruined building, heading for home.

She hadn't slept well for days, stewing over the cryptic nature of Cambul's warnings. What did they mean? Had he seen something in her future? Did he even care enough to look? Or were his words nothing more than the products of a mind that slipped further into anarchy with each passing day?

None of the masters had commented on the recent redesign of her weapon. They had been instructed to give Bastila her space after she had been strained by her recent battle.

As she meditated in her sparse quarters, a familiar figure walked in. Bastila smiled opening her eyes as she stared at her old friend, Juhani. The slightly furry woman from Cathar blinked golden eyes, smiling, her feline nose bunching up. Her brown braids of hair fixed in an elaborate top knot. Her robes were a bright splash of scarlet in color, with black boots, gloves, and shoulder pads.

"Juhani! Its been months. Nobody told me you'd be coming!" Bastila exclaimed happily, rising to hug her old friend.

"Wanted to surprise you," Juhani said with a thick accent. "Masters called me here to Coruscant on business."

Bastila perked. "What sort of business?"

Juhani sighed and scratched her head. "You really aren't going to like this next bit. Remember that little...uh...'trip' you and I took?"

Bastila glowered. "Don't tell me..."

"Jedi council deliberated it for months now. They want you and me to go back."

Bastila folded her arms. "May I ask why."

"Masters worried our actions may have caused more harm than good," she replied gently.

"Even after I left out the disagreeable bits," Bastila muttered, pinching her nose. "Why pick us again?"

"We know the environment. Masters are just as afraid of making a misstep," Juhani answered. "It WAS a nice place to visit, all things considered."

"Yeah, when you didn't have to worry about treacherous spirits from parallel realities," Bastila muttered. "Or doing a Council-approved assassination mission."

"It won't be like that this time. Nobody will even know we were there. It will be just a simple investigation, nothing more."

"Nothing about Jedi Investigations are simple," Bastila snapped. "Who approved this?"

Juhani threw her a cynical look. "Who do you think? Queen Frosty herself."

Atris. The Orders top Historian also moonlighted as the main head of Jedi Intelligence Operations. Her tact and ruthlessness was legendary; so much so that sometimes no one was sure whether or not the High Council was still in charge of all Jedi or whether Atris was just telling the council what to say. Not a woman to be crossed. Darth Revan had recently learned this when Atris had forged footage of Revan sleeping with a Dark Jedi from the Korriban academy and then sending it to the Dark Lord's erstwhile spouse, Malak. The spat he had had with her in public had sabotaged her image and credibility in several Sith controlled sectors.

If Atris had approved this, there was no way they were NOT going.

"That woman's gonna be my undoing, one of these days," Bastila sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. Atris wants us to prepare ourselves," Juhani answered. "I'm sorry Bastila. I wish this were under better circumstances."

"It's not your fault. 'Queen Frosty' is just too damn curious for her own good."

The next day...

"Good to see you, Bastila," Atris spoke as the Padawan entered the chambers that immediately preceeded the paths into the temple's underground catacombs, where no Jedi had ventured for centuries. The chamber was carved from the rock of the temple's foundation and was fixed with cheap running lights along the walls and ceiling, all connected by a wire or two. "I apologize that this has to come up on such short notice, but the decision was reached only yesterday-"

"How long should I plan to stay?" Bastila interrupted, in no mood for false apologies. She wore the garb of the Jedi that belonged in the particular dimension she was traveling to: A white cotton shirt with brown slacks and shoes, a brown trench coat and a white domino mask. Juhani walked in a second later, clad in a tight fitting red leather bodysuit, black boots that went up to her knee, and a red domino mask. She was carrying a small duffle bag.

Atris never seemed to change. She was wearing what she always wore: An all white version of Historian Robes, her pale skin and ice white hair tied in a conservative bun, a few strands hanging loosely on the sides. Her ice blue eyes raked them over. "Two days at most. We want your investigation to be thorough. I trust you are ready for all contingencies?"

"We have supplies enough. We'll make it," Juhani answered. "Just as long as you don't send us to kill anybody."

Atris blinked, chuckled, and pulled out a cigar from her pocket, she placed it in her mouth and lit the tip with her pale blue lightsaber blade. "Why dear Juhani...I wouldn't dream of it," she replied with a dark smile, gesturing with her hand to the machine that was to transport them. "Right this way."

The machine-a golden, projector like device fixed to a tripod-had been pointed to a bare, concrete wall. Bastila tensed as she approached it. Once she passed through, she would be truly relying on her own wits to stay alive there, just as she had two years ago.

Atris went over to the machine and flicked a switch. The machine hummed with activity and a small portal of flickering gold around the edges appeared, showing only darkness on the other side.

Bastila took a deep breath, gave one more sour look to Atris, and then stepped through it, with Juhani.

Bastila's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the other side. It appeared to be some sort of sewer system. She could see light not too far ahead of her. The bag Juhani was carrying had the other projector the Orders technicians had finally managed to replicate. Without it, there was no chance they were going home. She saw the portal close behind her. They were on their own. Again.

"I wonder if they fought their Mandalorian Wars yet," Juhani wondered as they proceeded through the sewer pipe, dry, but reeking nonetheless.

"If they have, maybe they were smart enough to keep an eye on Revan. Unlike us," Bastila replied as they finally cleared the pipe and gazed at the sight beyond.

The entire skyline seemed to be lit in celebration. Fireworks were popping off in every direction, and the wind floated pieces of ticker tape in the orange skyline. If she listened closely, she could make out the sound of instruments being played through the streets. The skyscrapers of this universes Coruscant were more elaborate, with carvings and statues of animals and men along their surface. A new building dominated the skyline however, one she hadn't seen before. It was tall, obelisk like, with four smaller towers joined by a fortress wall surrounding it. A giant silver shield was mounted on the side of the building visible to her, with the Jedi's sword and wings symbol lit up on it by two searchlights.

"Guess they've moved up in the world," Juhani remarked.

Bastila spotted a ladder attached to the bottom of the pipe. She quickly climbed onto it and proceeded down ward. Juhani followed and they spotted a turbolift on a small, seemingly abandoned platform. It looked like it hadn't been used in years. It would be a perfect place to set up a camp: They had the survival gear, and a few electrum ingots to help purchase supplies.

"What do you say, Juhani? You like this spot?" Bastila asked.

"Hmmm...great view, open air. What not to like?" Juhani mused, before withdrawing a few ingots from the bag and handing them to Bastila. "After food. You know that place we went to last time? I wonder if it is still around.

"I agree. If Queen Frosty was patient enough to wait until the last minute to spring this on me, then she's patient enough to wait until I'm damn good and ready to get started," Bastila huffed. "I could eat an ox. You?"

"Sturgeon with red wine. Some crab on side," Juhani answered, lapsing into a broken syntax. Despite the progress she had made, she still occasionally fell into the habit. The masters mainly encouraged a full syntax because they didn't like perceived laziness. But Juhani liked the way she spoke. She felt it made her distinct. She took the bag and stashed it inside the opening of a defunct maintenance tunnel behind the turbolift.

"Shall we?" Bastila asked as they went to the turbolift and pressed the down button.

The parade was in full swing when the pair entered the streets. People were yelling and hugging one another. Bastila saw some people standing next to a local bar clinking their glasses together.

"What everyone celebrating?" Juhani wondered. Her question was answered when a poster flying through the wind caught her in the face. She pulled it off and stared.

"Hey Bassie, look," Juhani said showing her the picture.

Bastila gazed at the elaborately drawn picture of a Mandalorian mask, a dull red color with a mottled texture across its surface and a thin visor to see out of, split in a violent diagonal manner. Under it were the words VM (Victory over Mandalore) DAY.

"I guess that answer question," Juhani spoke. "Think we should warn them about Revan?"

"They were plenty concerned about him last time we looked and I don't think they would have let him maintain total control. We're here to investigate, nothing more," Bastila asserted.

Suddenly she stopped herself. She had chosen to not involve herself last time in the affairs of this demension and it had cost Rae Nolin his soul.

"But," she added. "I can assure you I won't stand idly if I see the kek hit the fan."

Juhani shrugged. "Fair enough."

The pair made their way through the crowds celebrating on the city streets. She saw giant floats on repulsorlift carts full of dancing women in skimpy outfits. She smiled as she saw a sailor in red and yellow fatigues take hold of a woman in a white dress and kiss her. Most paid her no heed but some would occasionally wave or nod or tip their hats to the pair in a gesture of respect.

"Think the Jedi are popular here now?" Bastila wondered.

"Have not seen anybody who was displeased to see us," Juhani replied, sticking out her tongue and letting a snowflake hit it as more began to fall.

They passed through more shops and people celebrating, and Bastila began seeing more and more posters, drawn in what might have been called an art deco style, they depicted a bunch of similarly drawn smiling men and women in white domino mask and brown business suits punching men wearing white shirts and tan khakis with face masks that had a t-shaped visor. Underneath were the words, drawn in large black print WINNING THE WAR ONE MANDO AT A TIME! JOIN TODAY! Another bore a poster of a strangely familiar man in a blue set of robes with a brown, toga-like coat that was open in the front and slung over his left shoulder. He wore a golden face mask with a large, black visor to see out of. His black boots stood on a pile of Mandalorian masks and he held a flat, glowing blue blade with a diamond shaped tip, guarding against more Mandalorians taking aim. Over him were the words HE CAN'T WIN ALONE! SIGN UP FOR THE INFANTRY! See local recruiting office for details.

"Guess Revan's popular in spite of it all. In spite of what he forced," Bastila said with no small amount of disgust. Her stomach grumbled. She gestured to an alley she had seen last time. "This is the way, lets go."

The nightclub wasn't as she remembered it. It was packed the last time. Now it was almost empty, a few patrons sitting in the corners of the club, drinking in the darkness, while some man crooned about a lost love on stage while playing the piano. Juhani and Bastila strode across the dark velvet carpet, taking a seat in the back, where the kitchen was.

A waiter, a Rodian, strode up to them in a a severe black tuxedo. "And what will the ladies have this evening?"

"Steak." Bastila said. "A glass of ale."

"And how would the Madame like her steak?"

"Fully cooked," the padawan answered.

"Sturgeon. Red wine. Crab," Juhani added. "Don't bother cooking fish. Bring it raw. Crab too."

The waiter bowed, heading into the kitchen Bastila peered at the Cather. "I didn't know you could eat raw food."

"Hello, carnivore?" Juhani asked cynically. "Besides, taste so much better raw. Humans are ones who need to burn food. Weak stomachs."

Bastila chuckled. "Too true."

The waiter soon brought back their food. "The chef wishes me to inform you there is no charge where heroes of the Union are concerned," the waiter informed the both of them before departing, not waiting for their response.

"The only thing better than free food is...wait, what am I saying? Free food is bee's knees!" Juhani exclaimed, picking up the fish, scales and all, and sinking her teeth into its head. Bastila watched with mild fascination as Juhani tore the head away in one yank and chewed vigorously before swallowing it all. Bastila quietly picked away at her steak, taking small bites and sipping at her ale, before finally pushing the food away, half eaten, Her eyes had been bigger than her stomach. "You want this?" she asked Juhani.

Juhani chucked the fish tail eagerly into her mouth and eagerly took the plate. "Always wonder what cow tastes like when burned."

At first bite, Bastila could have sworn she heard her friend purring for a split second before catching herself. "I see why you eat it. Could get used to burnt food."

"Glad to hear it," Bastila replied. "Juhani, I've been meaning to ask you something..."

"Shoot," her friend replied in between bites.

"Did I fail here last time?"

Juhani paused.

"No. Not really. Was first major assignment you ever had, unless you count that mess at Ukatis..."

Bastila held up a hand. "Don't remind me. Still can't get over how badly I screwed up. Sometimes I still worry about Valia Renn coming after me."

"What I say is," Juhani began with a sigh. "Is that situation was an unknown. It could have gone worse. Much worse. You did best you could with resources and information available. I can name dozen other padawans off top of my head who would have cracked at pressure you experienced."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I just...have a bad feeling about all of this."

"So do I, but I no let it get me down. Chin up, da?"

Bastila nodded. "You always did know what to say to cheer me up."

"You're welcome," Juhani said, beaming.

"Okay, where do you think we should start? I personally think the most reasonable place to get information would have to be from somebody friendly to us. And who do we know here that's friendly?"

Juhani snapped her fingers. "Captain Onasi."

"Right. If there's anybody we can chat up without raising suspicions, it'll be him. Trouble is, where to look for him?"

"Hey, didn't he mention that he'd like to move him and his wife into those crazy huge arcologies?" Juhani asked.

"Slim chance, but better than nothing. Qel-Droma arcology it is," Bastila said, getting up.

"You know, if this no pan out, then Revan always an option," Juhani added. "And unlike Onasi, he could be relatively easy to locate."

"I'd sooner jab myself in the leg with a spoon," Bastila muttered. "But I'll keep it in mind. Let's get out of here."

Juhani nodded, swallowing the last of her wine and steak as she followed Bastila.

Jedi Precinct, Coruscant.

Revan marched through the precinct as though he owned the place.

He had done it. After two years of brutal war, he had done it. He had stopped the Mandalorian Cartels with the Force as his ally.

Swathed in his brown and blue robes, he finally dared to let out an exhale of relief.

He had been so unsure when all this started. So full of fear. But he had heeded his mentor's guidance, and through that guidance, he had brought the full power of the Force to light for all Jedi to take hold of.

True, suspicion had been cast on him and those like him, those who did not follow standard operating procedure, and after the disaster at the old precinct, he had had to work hard to earn back even a modicum of trust-

But it was over! At last it was over! And now that the cartels had been beaten and the new teachings had proven themselves, a whole wealth of possibilities for the future lay before the Agency-no, the _Order_-that his head was spinning with excitement. They could be called in to mediate disputes, fight the worst of the worst, help bring civility to regions of the galaxy still torn apart by strife. They would have to be impartial, and ultimately a separate entity from the Union but it could be done. And with the Rakatan Space Factory at his disposal, there was no limit to the possibilities. And still there were more mysteries to be solved in the Force proper.

So absorbed was he in his excitement-though that could not be read thanks to the golden mask covering his face-that it took him a while to notice the dirty looks thrown at him by other agents wearing the standard business suits that were trademark of the old way of doing things. Even Agents who wore the brown and blue robes he did-averted their gaze as he walked past them to go to the meeting with the commission.

A cold feeling entered his stomach as he walked past the vast halls and offices full of equipment and training sessions. What was going on here?

They had beaten the Mandalorians! Why were they not celebrating?

Why was everyone acting like it was another day of work? More to the point, why was everyone acting like they worked in a morgue? It was VM Day!

Revan took a turbo lift up to the top of precinct headquarters. The old precinct had been abandoned, though it still stood, damaged and silent after his old friend Rae Nolin's bloody siege. There was too much pain there. Far too much.

Revan walked into a cacophony of shouting and calls for order amid the court-like chamber. Some agents in the old suits were arguing loudly with others as well as agents who wore brown and blue robes like he did.

Revan grimaced under his mask as he saw Senior Investigator Vrook Lamar, dressed in an all-white version of the standard business suit, bang a gavel from the Judge's seat.

"Alright, lads and lasses. The man we're all here for has finally arrived. Take yer' seats," he called out in his own peculiar accent before fixing his gaze on Revan. "Step forward, boyo. You and yer' lot have much to answer for. And for yer own sake, they better damn well be the right answers."

"Master Lamar-" Revan tried to speak, in his dark, yet elegant voice that had commanded armies in the past months

"We'll have none 'o' that 'Master' business here, boyo. For the last bloody time, yer' not a bloody knight on a white horse. It's 'Mister' to you," Vrook spoke, annoyed.

"Very well, Mister Lamar. I must confess-" Revan began, stepping forward. "I half expected everyone here to be celebrating the recent victory over the cartels-"

"Oh, here we go again with the bloody Mandalorians. Don't you have anything else you focus on, boyo-"

"Mister Lamar," Revan snapped sharply. "If you wish me to respect you with the appropriate titles, I must first ask the same courtesy. 'Officer Revan' will do."

Vrook stared at him. "Barely an officer-but why not. Sure, I'll humor you, 'Officer Revan'. Do ya' know why you been called to these illustrious chambers?"

"The nature of this conference eludes me," Revan replied, clasping his hands behind his back. "May I ask where the other investigators are?"

"Damage control," Vrook answered.

Revan paused, feeling the air go still. "For?"

"This little stunt you pulled with the press," Vrook answered, hitting a control switch.

A hologram began to play in the middle of the court room, it was showing him, giving an interview to a young, aspiring journalist, a blue Twi-lek called Mission Vao. The interview had been mostly mundane, except for the last part, where the grey jumpsuit wearing girl had asked him what was next.

"Well hopefully," the hologram Revan answered, "Now that we've proven the new methods, we'll be able to spread out and focus on more than just dealing with violators of the Force Sensitivity Act. These new powers lend themselves to all sorts of applications from civilian to diplomatic-"

"Wait," the young woman had stopped him, "So you're saying the Jedi are going to start enforcing other government policies?"

"Not enforcing so much as expanding-adjusting-"

"But isn't that beyond the scope of the Agency's original objectives?"

"Well yes, but I have always felt that the Agency was capable of being so much more than just a police force for our own kind-"

"And the senior investigators agree with you?" the Twi-lek asked, obviously smelling blood.

"They're a proactive lot. They know which way the wind is blowing with the Mandalorians defeated. Why wouldn't they agree with me?"

Vrook stopped the interview there. "Why wouldn't we agree with you?" he asked, scratching his chin and going "Hmmmm..." in an exaggerated fashion. "Let's see. Anybody remember the bloodbath at the old precinct?"

Everyone in the old clothing raised their hands. Revan got a sinking feeling in the middle of his stomach, like the floor had been pulled out from under him.

"Anybody remember killing old friends who'd been driven insane by the power Revan forced on all of us?"

Reluctantly, some of his own supporters raised their hand.

"Ah that about does it. Do ya have any idea how much convincing we're gonna need to do to convince the government we ain't becoming some kinda sick cult of vigilantes?" Vrook asked. "You forget Revan, that the only reason we got involved in the Unions war wasn't because of all the fancy powers that Statue doohickey taught us. It was because the situation was so desperate the Union had no choice but to ask us for help. And we, bein' the fine little bunch 'o' patriots we were, said yes-with grave reservations. Taking the wind from your sails that would have ended in accusing everyone who didn't want to fight of cowardice was just icing on the cake."

"But you 'saw' how effective the new teachings are!" Revan protested, desperate to get back control of the situation. "They helped us beat the Mandalorians!"

"Debatable. Most Agents survived the war using only standard operating procedure: Clairvoyance or healing, only turning to those strange techniques and weapons when we were given no other alternative. I can show the government study confirming this if you feel like being bloody obstinate," Vrook remarked. "The point is, It took all of this Agency's considerable charm to keep the government from declaring us all outlaws after that incident with Nolin-which you helped facilitate I might add."

"I can only apologize for that so many times. It was growing pains. We were taking our first steps into a larger world. We needed to see the pitfalls. Has not the memory of that terrible night kept you all on the right track? Do you not find yourself weighing your decisions carefully?" Revan asked.

Vrook squinted. "Why you self righteous prick," he spat hatefully. "Most of us feel like we're navigating our way through a field of sharp rocks half the time because 'o' what we saw that night. Well I got news for you, boyo...we've had it with you. You've gone too far this time."

Revan kept still even as he felt the air electrify. "If I committed an error in public, I will be glad to issue a statement to the press that retracts the offense."

"Not good enough. The investigators have come to a decision. These teachings, these light saber weapons-they're banned, effective immediately. We are not going to alter the very fabric of the Agency to suit you anymore, Revan. We've humored you enough, we played along, we gave you exactly what you wanted when it comes to the Mandalorians-but no further."

"You're making a mistake," Revan protested, stunned by the sudden pronouncement that the investigators were setting everything back to zero. "These teachings-they're not evil if you use them right. They can do so much good in the right hands. And what if another enemy of the Union comes along-"

"Governments will always have enemies, and if they ask us to help them again, we will-but not before thinking long and hard about it," Vrook replied in a cold manner. "And what good are you talking about that couldn't be achieved by other, simpler means? We can't just take the law into our own hands and hope for the best. This agency was created for a very specific purpose-and that was to prevent other people with the Force from getting out of control and threatening innocent lives. To minimize, as much as possible, the threat the Force represents. A mission which is jeopardized because of these teachings, due to the risk of escalation. If we went with what you want, the kind of slaughter that occurred at the old precinct could very well become a regular occurrence. Unless we keep things simple, we'll be fighting a vicious war that will never end."

"You don't know that," Revan replied angrily.

"True but I can guess that is what will happen. And if any of his followers feels like sticking up for him, let me remind you of one thing: Most of you only signed on to his crazy scheme because you lost confidence that the Agency proper couldn't cut the mustard when it came to the Mando's-something I can confidently demonstrate as being categorically false. Now that the Mando's are beaten, do ya really wanna spend the rest of your life taking up a cause that can just as easily be handled by the regular police or diplomats? Or would you rather settle back down and go back to business as usual? Cause if you go with him, you won't be a law enforcement officer either figuratively OR literally. You'll be a member of a cult who thinks that its their duty to stick their nose where it isn't their concern.

Revan waited, and when no one from his side spoke, his head drooped slightly.

"I thought so," Vrook said after a moment before fixing his eyes on Revan. "You have two choices, Revan. You can either come back to reality and give up this silly-as-hell 'Jedi Knight' business, turn in yer lightsaber and stop fighting like a bloody savage, or I can fire your ass and let you go live in a cave somewhere, preferably a deserted planetoid, where you can scratch that fruity little Jedi code limerick you made up on the walls with your fingers till they bleed. Now what's it gonna be?"

Revan didn't-couldn't answer-trapped as he was. As much as he hated to admit it, the Commissioners hadn't dragged their legs in deciding to aid the Union, they had thrown their entire weight at the problem-even while ignoring everything they had been shown about the Force's true nature. He couldn't fault them for thinking they had more than lived up to their reputation as patriots-to their end of things.

But if only they hadn't decided to be so wrong!

Revan exhaled. He had some heavy thinking to do. He'd planned so much, and the Investigators had snatched all of it away before it could even start. No order, no group of selfless men and women fighting to preserve democracy and innocent life and discovering the Force's higher mysteries. The Force was nothing but a job-slash-threat to them, and always would be.

Revan removed his light saber. It had a t-shaped cross guard with an ivory grip, and had saved his life so many times he couldn't imagine life without it.

But even as he thought this, he slowly placed the blade on the desk in front of Vrook, whose face was impassive at this gesture of submission. He would not be the one to split the Agency. To cause yet another civil war amongst his bretheren.

"I expect you to show up for work bright and early tomorrow morning. No more press interviews. No more exotic methods of doing things. And you had better show up in Agency regulated wear instead of those damn robes, or don't bother showing up at all," Vrook instructed. "Dismissed."

Revan did not acknowledge him. He simply turned and went the way he came.

"Cowards," he said under his breath.

And Revan, the first man of this demension to ever call himself a Jedi Knight, walked out as the last man to ever call himself a Jedi Knight. The Investigators had killed the dream, and no one even pretended to shed a tear.


	2. Chapter 2 :Crime scene

The cylinder shaped transport shuttle, a reflective silver in color, with stubby wings and a stabilizer fin landed at the docking pad of Qel-Droma Arcology, only one of a massive network of transparisteel and marble buildings nestled on a thick, tree-like system of stabilizing structures and repulsor-lift generators. The docking bay was much as they remembered it, wide open with gentle white colors and a great painting of a tree in green on the floors, walls and ceiling. There was virtually no one in line at the security and customs checkpoint, what with the celebration in full swing across the planet. Bastila and Juhani waited quietly until called upon by the inspector, a male Bothan with dark fur and a grey suit, his long snout brightened into a smile when he saw them, as he looked up from paperwork at his metal desk.

"Jedi? Oh forgive me! I didn't see you! Come right in!"

"You no search us?" Juhani asked,

"It would be rude to question the integrity of such patriots! Why, we even have the savior of the Republic living here, for crying out loud! Come in! Have you come with news for him?"

"No. Truth be told we're here to see a friend," Bastila answered. "His name is Carth Onasi. Does he live here?"

"As a matter of fact he does! Nice man. I like him, and his wife is such a dear...he's on the fifth floor, room 465. Tell him Grevik said hello!" The Bothan answered, disabling the security field seperating the bay from the shopping centers of the Arcology.

Bastila bowed. "Thank you,"

The Bothan nodded and smiled as they departed.

"That was easy. Popularity go long way here it seems," Juhani noted as they walked through the near deserted shopping centers. The entire cube shaped arcology was exposed to the sunlight that shown through the clouds. The snow was starting to come down heavily.

As they took a ride in a transparent tram-cube-The Arcology's internal transport-Bastila started to frown.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she admitted.

"Why? What wrong?" Juhani wondered.

"Doesn't this all feel-convenient?"

"Its just your nerves. Relax. We won't speak to Revan unless we have no choice," Juhani reassured as they zipped across the transport rails.

"Don't jinx us with a statement like that."

"Too late," Juhani answered with a grin.

"Ha ha," Bastila muttered.

The tram stopped and the pair stepped into a wide, square shaped, garden like complex filled with apartment doors. Small elaborate water fountains with carved faces spat out the liquid, and Ivy grew on the walls, dotted with small dark blue flowers. The floor was a black and white checkered color and the walls were a light pastel color. Bastila smelled food when she spotted Carth's apartment number on the third and highest upper level of the complex.

Walking upstairs, Bastila began to wonder how she was going to start the conversation. What if his wife was around? She'd probably freak out.

Smoothing her duplicate agency clothes and straightening her domino mask, Bastila knocked on the door.

It slid open and Carth Onasi, a man with what seemed a perpetual afternoon shadow of a beard on his face poked his head out. His brown hair was cut, thought still a little unruly, and he had light skin that was used to sun exposure. His brown eyes blinked. He was wearing a simple, bright orange shirt with some pale colored slacks. He was only wearing socks on his feet, and he had a bright blue apron with the words I HEART JEDI on it in pink color.

"Yes can I help you with something-" he began before he recognized their faces.

"Wait...no it can't be the one I'm thinking about. You must be 'our' Bastila," he said, confused.

"Not exactly," Juhani replied.

His face bore a grin on his wide face as he realized the truth.

"You gals?! Seriously?! Come in!" he said happily. "I'm so glad to see you! How long are you staying?"

"Two days," Bastila answered. "It's good to see you again, Captain Onasi. It looks like life has been good to you," she remarked as she stared at his spacious apartment. It had low lighting, and there were a set of three strategically placed lamps around the square area. The floor was a polished dark oak. A small sofa and a love seat were perched next to a library on one side, with a larger sofa perched in front of a holo-projector against the wall, the kitchen was a small area and there were magnets shaped like cats on the personal cooling unit that stored the food. The simple, round dining table, made of cherry wood was just outside it.

"Yeah the shipping business has been good to an old star-hound like me. I'm making dinner. Would you like to stay? It's kath meatloaf, personal specialty of mine."

"I ate already," Bastila said.

"I'm game," Juhani replied.

"You ate at the nightclub," Bastila said to her friend tersely.

"I have fast metabolism," the Cathar answered.

"More like a bottomless pit," Bastila said under her breath, turning as she spotted another person.

She was statuesque, yet liquid in movement. Her skin was a bright apple green, and her headtails were done up with bands of cloth, in rainbow colors. She wore a dark airy dress meant for a stroll through the park or the comfort of a house. Her violet eyes studied Bastila and Juhani, almost like they were familiar to her. But she then smiled and took a cheerful expression.

"I didn't know we had guests," the Twi-Lek woman spoke with a velvet-smooth tone. "I'm Morgana Onasi, Carth's wife, and you are-?"

"Morgana, these are the friends I told you about. The ones who, you know, 'aren't from here'," Carth supplied, waving an introductory hand at the pair.

She perked in surprise. "I see. Carth's told me about you. It was so hard to believe at first, but I can always tell when Carth's being honest. Its an honor," she said, holding out her hand.

Bastila took it, feeling the potent tingle of the Force in the other. She decided not to mention it. She was too old to begin the training anyway.

"The honor's mine. I'm surprised you two aren't celebrating VM Day. I was worried I'd have to come back later," Bastila answered.

"Morgana doesn't like the cold, and I can't stand all the drunken rabble," Carth said. "A nice quiet evening with friends and my wife is a much better proposition."

"Won't argue on that point," Juhani said, with a clap of her hands. "So...who hungry?"

"So, if I may ask, what are you two doing here?" Carth asked as he plopped a juicy portion of meatloaf and mashed potato on Juhani's plate.

"Follow up, mostly," Bastila answered, sipping a small glass of water while Juhani waited patiently for the rest to be served. "We were rather hoping you could provide us some answers to what happened after we left."

"I'll try, but bear in mind, even I'm not too clear on some things," Carth answered finally sitting down.

"It looks delicious, Carth," Morgana said, eyeing it.

"Thanks, honey," he said, taking a bite. "So, fire off your questions,"

"When did the battle against the Mandalorian Cartels start?" Bastila asked, taking another sip.

Carth shrugged, taking a bite of his food. "Uh, about one month after you left, really. Cartels start a war with just about every local government in this sector, overrun their production lines, and build themselves a nice little arsenal. Mandalore attacked Coruscant twice. Woulda gotten the President and most of Congress if Revan and his 'Jedi Knights' hadn't brought the wrath of God or whatever it is they worship down on Mandalore's head, At first though, Mandalore's army had the edge. Lost a lot of the early battles. When The Union finally begged the Jedi Agency for aid, they took about a days deliberation before throwing in their two creds. We start pushing back, they don't back down until we dropped the Mass Shadow Bomb on their main planet, named after their leader. Twice. Mandalorians agreed to an unconditional surrender a day later."

"The entire Agency fought? All they did was fuel the Mandalorians lust for battle!" Bastila remarked, disgusted. "Didn't they distrust Revan, after that horrible incident with Nolin?"

"They distrusted him, but his actions saving the President earned him a few brownie points with the right people. From what I heard, the Agency was NOT happy being forced into the conflict, but they didn't have any choice if they wanted to keep tabs on Revan and his followers. They made him operate under some very strict guidelines, and I heard that while they supported the Union soldiers to the best of their ability, they gave virtually no aid to Revan or his faction. Like they wanted him and those like him to die in the field, even though they knew the same stuff."

"Well, at least they didn't completely take leave of their senses," Bastila muttered. "So he wants to spread the ways of the Jedi Knight?"

"If his superiors don't stop him," Carth answered. "I ran into a couple of agents a few weeks back while shipping supplies to a Union forward operating base. They're scared of it. Scared of the Force. Scared of turning into Nolin. And who can blame them?"

"Scared enough to ban their new gifts?" Bastila asked, perturbed that the Jedi of this reality would have such a disturbing amount of discipline. She wondered how her own order would have evolved, had her master's forebears been so overwhelmingly cautious: They probably wouldn't exist now.

"Definitely. Part of me thinks they want Revan to say no to them. He won't have a leg to stand on. They're just waiting for a reason to toss him into the clink and forget about him."

"Sounds like a tactic we should have tried, eh, Bassie?" Juhani asked, taking a large bite of potato.

"I support everything the Masters did. I will not second guess their decision not to fight," Bastila replied calmly.

"Tell me, Bastila, what's it like, where you're from? Do I and Carth exist over there as we do here?" Morgana asked.

"I'm not sure. I've never encountered my version of either you or Onasi," Bastila answered, "I imagine there are a few similarities."

"Is it true that 'your' Jedi are locked in some sort of never ending war?" she asked innocently.

"The Order has battled the Dark Side for millennia. So yeah, kinda," Bastila answered.

Morgana gazed at Bastila with an expression of pity. "That's terrible. I feel awful for you. How can anyone fight a war that long?"

"Logic has never been strong point in war with Dark Side. Arrogant people have something to prove or an axe to grind, and Jedi Order always there to kick 'em back to gutter where they belong," Juhani supplied, swallowing another bite.

"Is there a possibility that the war could end someday, though?" Carth wondered, sipping a glass of red wine. "No war can possibly be fought forever. There is no such thing as an eternal stalemate,"

"Believe me, Carth, I and many others ask that question. Keeps me up at night sometimes, but its starting to look like the war will end only when one side completely wipes out the other...or someone forces us to stop...or even, Force forbid, we reach some sort of compromise and become sellouts."

Morgana's expression changed to one of curiosity. "Why would compromise be such a bad thing?"

Bastila peered back at her with a cynical expression. "Miss Onasi, this war has been fought too long. There have been losses to both sides. Friends have betrayed and butchered one another. Planets have been destroyed, governments overthrown. And all because both sides keep insisting that their path is the right one to follow, and are unwilling to even consider the possibility that the other side may have some valid points. I am one of those people. If we were to compromise, make peace with the other side, all we would be saying is that we've been full of it the whole time, and that there was no reason all our friends and loved ones and all those innocents had to die in our wars. That our feud has been as empty, as petty, and as meaningless as our harshest critics have always accused it of being. No, Miss Onasi. No compromise can be allowed. It would be better if the Sith were to destroy us utterly than to try and reach an understanding with us. In theory, a Jedi shouldn't deal in absolutes...but absolutes are all we have. All we have left, anyway." Bastila finished, taking a long gulp of water at the stark silence that followed. Her face was lightly red from embarrassment. "Forgive, I didn't mean to spoil your evening with talk of my own dimension's flaws."

"No, no, you didn't spoil anything!" Morgana said. "It was just...fascinating. To see the world through the eyes of zealotry and what not. Do you really thank that kind of thinking will spread here, with our Jedi?"

"For your sake, I sincerely hope not," Juhani added, finishing the last of her loaf. "After all, it no Force war until somebody use telekinesis to chuck vehicle at you."

Everybody gave a small, nervous chuckle.

"Well, you're welcome to stay the night, if you don't mind the couch," Carth said.

"Your generosity is most welcome, Carth," Bastila replied with a bow of her head.

The scream in her mind shattered Bastila's concentration. She snapped out of her meditative trance, rising from her kneeling position at the exact same time Juhani did so.

"Did you feel that?" Juhani asked.

"Definitely," Bastila whispered. "Where did it come from?"

Both searched their feelings. Bastila's spine went to ice as she located the source of the disturbance.

"Revan's apartment," they both said at once.

The pair raced out of the apartment, giving no thought to the fact that the door was already slightly ajar.

The pair brought out their light sabers during the tram ride to the complex Revan lived in. It was much as they both remembered it, painted in oil-in water colors with support pillars at the bottom floor along with a new rock garden at the bottom floor. Light drops of blood speckled its sand as they raced up the steps.

Revan's spacious oval apartment had a steel theme to the walls and furniture, and now lay smashed, with long black scorch marks bearing tell tale evidence of a light saber battle gone horribly awry for one party. Furniture lay tossed around the room. Pictures smashed. Bastila's nostrils picked up the acrid scent of burnt ozone.

"Something went down here," Juhani mumbled.

"Understatement of the decade," Bastila replied. She spotted an inert, burnt form and went over to it.

It was Revan, clad in his brown and blue Jedi robes, and he stank of cooked meat. Bastila could make out several blaster shots to the chest, and he'd sustained an overwhelming barrage of Force Lightning. His mask had partially melted. There would be no getting it off his face.

"Juhani, signal the authorities. I'm officially changing our objectives," Bastila said.

"To what?" Juhani asked, eyebrow raised.

"To resolving this murder investigation."

"I no see why this our problem. I mean, this good, right? Revan dead, can't raise army to crush Jedi or their version of Republic," Juhani asserted, folding her arms as she stood next to Bastila, who was raking the crime scene over.

"There was no indication he was going to make the same choice ours did. For Force's sake, he even got everything he asked for from the Council, and this was AFTER his complicity in Nolin's assault of the Jedi precinct. Whatever else he was, he fought to uphold law and order and use the Force to protect the innocent. By the barest minimum of standards he was a fellow Jedi, and I will not casually dismiss his murder, no matter the expediency it may or may not serve," the padawan replied, kneeling as she spotted something interesting. "No one deserves execution, no matter what their crimes,"

"Bastila, that is opinion even most Jedi masters wouldn't share. And no offense, but you don't seem to hold that sentiment when you use Battle Meditation to drive whole Sith fleet mad."

"Different circumstances. No opportunity to show mercy," Bastila answered distantly, gazing at a blaster pistol. It had a black finish, was slim and cyndrilical in design, with an ivory grip that had the sword and wings symbol.

"It would seem our killer is a Jedi," Bastila noted. "It also seems Revan knew his killer,"

She began to piece together what had happened. Revan had let in...someone. And perhaps an argument had either broken out or the fight had begun not soon after. Revan had been surprised by Force Lightning. He'd probably been killed instantly. But he'd managed to wound his attacker, explaining the blood found in the rock garden. But whose blood was it?

Bastila found herself racing down the stairs, approaching the Rock Garden. She was just about to cross into it, when Juhani grabbed her.

"No! You'll contaminate crime scene!" Juhani said. "We must leave! Now!"

"Hey, who's down there?" asked a voice coming from another floor above them.

The pair sprinted to the exit, only to find that the tram service had been locked down.

"Oh, crap," Bastila said. "Somebody probably called the authorities before you did."

Sirens could be heard faintly, but growing ever closer.

"If they catch us, it'll be...awkward to say the least," Bastila said, butterflies in her stomach.

A wall on the bottom floor suddenly exploded inward.

The pair of Jedi stared as a sleek brown and white speeder, hovering just outside in the open skies of the city-planet through a giant hole in the building opened a side door.

"Get in! Unless you want to be arrested!" yelled a voice with a rough Concord Dawn accent

The pair rushed to the open speeder, bounding in. Before the hatch had even fully closed, the wedge-shaped vehicle with a small set of ion thrusters in the back raced through the skies at top speed.

The interior was dark save for the blinking displays of the pilot controls, all a deep red. Bastila peered through the square viewport behind her to see the bronze colored speeders of the Jedi Agency in hot pursuit, sirens flashing and mounted blasters firing at full auto as their pilot swerved expertly through the traffic lanes as he went straight downward.

"This ought to lose 'em," the pilot said, still shrouded in the darkness of the vehicle interior as he flipped a switch.

"Thermal/Optical cloak active," said a whining electronic voice.

The vehicle restabilized itself and gently lowered itself through the planetscape. Like an extra slow elevator ride.

"Well now, seems introductions are in order," said the rough voice.

The interior lights turned on.

He was wearing a black leather jacket over a white-t-shirt with grey slacks and black, scuffed boots. He was lanky, and his face was covered by a helmet which adhered in general shape to the contours of its user's head. The face covered by a smooth, opaque plate. Bastila spotted a a strange device mounted to his wrist, with a small cylinder that had a hole in middle of it, facing away from his body and set above the knuckles. A cable was attached to it an the rest seemed to be a segmented bracer which covered part of the palm and the forearm.

"I have the pleasure of addressing-?" Bastila asked.

"Mocke. Dradus Mocke (Jedi Exile of Universe 89-67) of the honorable Jedi Order-though not 'your' Jedi Order, just so we're clear," the man replied, turning to her. "I'm the multiversal equivalent to your own Valia Renn."

"Thus making you Rae Nolin's equivalent," Bastila replied with unmistakable suspicion. "You can let me out now. I remember what happened the last time I took a ride from a Jedi Exile."

"Calm yourself. I'm one of the good guys. So, you and your order been having fun cavorting around with our transdimensional tech?"

"Second trip, and its turning out to be no better than the first," Bastila answered, turning away from Mocke and staring out the view port. "I see Universe 89-67 finally decided to send someone. Took you long enough. We could have used your help when Nolin went bad."

"The transmission had been corrupted. It took us this long just to reconstruct it, not to mention locate the point of origin," Mocke. "Same old snobbish prude, you are..."

"So what you here for? Recon?" Juhani asked from the backseat.

"Manhunt, actually," Dradus answered. "Visited the wreckage of the Dark Peregrine. All of the bodies had been taken and destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Bastila asked, suddenly alert as she got a bad feeling. "Why?" she asked, turning to him.

"To cover up any trail. From what evidence I've been able to piece together, there are at least three survivors from the crash. All of them prisoners. But the only thing I can't figure out is which prisoners escaped. Could be a Revan, might be a Darth Sion, maybe even a version of you-"

"Me-?" Bastila spoke in disbelief.

"You go bad more often than you might think. There are versions of you so dangerous that their dimensions are permanently banned for travel to or from," Mocke answered. "My goal is to discover the fates of these prisoners, and, if possible, bring them to justice."

"We're investigating the murder of this dimension's Revan."

"Not my problem. Probably for the best anyway."

"He was killed with Force Lightning. Almost all of Nolin's followers died in their assault on the precinct. To the best of my knowledge, there are no Dark Jedi in this demension with that level of power."

"This going somewhere?" Mocke asked.

"I'm saying whoever murdered Revan might be one of your prisoners," Bastila responded.

"Could be just as likely somebody in this universe learned it. Happens all the time," Mocke answered. "Look, this isn't your problem. Your universe wasn't even meant to get their hands on the tech you used to come here."

"Listen Dradus, whoever killed Revan couldn't have picked a worse time. For good or ill he was a symbol. His followers won't take kindly to it. I'm starting to think that Jedi pistol left at the crime scene was deliberate

"You entered the crime scene?" Mocke laughed. "Stupid. Proactive, but stupid. Your DNA's all over the place. Their forensic team's going to have a tough time explaining what two of their own officers were doing there."

Bastila almost facepalmed herself. She HAD been too overzealous. And now her and Juhani's counterpart were going to pay the price.

The difficulty of her task ratcheted up. Not only did she have to solve Revan's murder, she had to clear the names of their doppelgangers.

The speeder decloaked as it reached the bottom of the city. They were parked in a small, trash strewn alley, The snow was coming down hard, and dozens of VM Day posters floated about. They were parked next to some sort of warehouse of brown brick construction and a slanting roof. The three exited the vehicle and Dradus showed them to a back door in the building.

Dradus had chosen his hideout well. It was littered with equipment Bastila had never seen before. Whirling gizmo's and a computer station that seemed to be made entirely of a latticed structure of light shaped to resemble a flight sim pod dominated the center of the large square room, while the right side was lined with a small rack of swords, blasters and light sabers.

"Won't all this equipment be hard to move if you're discovered?" Bastila asked.

"That's why the place has been fitted with a multiverse bomb. In case it looks like the equipment is going to be seized, the device detonates and sends it and everything around it into my home dimension. The computer controls it."

"Cool!" Juhani exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Listen, Mocke, you still haven't explained why you rescued us, or what you want," Bastila stated, hands on her hips.

"I need help capturing these guys."

"Why not just send in whole team from own dimension? Even just one or two people would give you better odds," Juhani asked.

"Doesn't work that way. A whole team would be too unwieldy, and even just sending three makes it thrice as likely that one of us could be captured by the local authorities, and greater the risk that a trans-dimensional incident could occur," Mocke answered. "I mean, you two were here last time, and just look what happened. A damned mini-war, that's what."

"How do you know we were here last time?" Bastila asked.

"I did some covert investigation when I arrived here a month ago. You two broke just about every single friggin' rule in the book when it comes to multi-versal first contact. Twice," Mocke answered. "Now as to why I need you, well...that whole thing about not sending in too many people? Sounds smart on paper, until you have to locate more than one person. My orders no less hamstringed by protocol than your own is. The Dark Peregrine was carrying some pretty powerful and dangerous men and women. What if they're working together? I'm good, but I'd be in a bind if all three of them decided to come after me. That's where you ladies come in.

"The last time a Jedi Exile asked for my help it turned out he was just using me to further his own ends," Bastila replied. "Don't think I have forgotten that lesson, Dradus."

"I'm sorry for whatever it was Nolin did to you, but not every version of 'me' is a treacherous fiend waiting to stab somebody in the back. Don't get me wrong, a lot of us are, but not all of us," Mocke answered neutrally.

"Will you help me bring these criminals to justice?"

"Only if you help me solve Revan's murder," Bastila replied, stone-faced and with folded arms.

Mocke sighed, face unreadable under his helmet. He then held out his hand. "Deal."

Bastila took the hand and cautiously shook it.

"We should probably take care of your stuff first. I mean, it's not like my guys are going anywhere, right?" Mocke chuckled, going over to the Computer made of light. "Now, describe for me the crime scene in detail and the computer will calculate our next course of action..."

The Next Day...

Jedi Precinct.

"MURDERERS!" Alek shouted, kicking open the doors of the Commissioner's Office. Two Agents in plain brown suits tried to stop him only to be slugged in the jaw by the tall burly and bald detective in a deep red business suit with white pinstripes and a long, plain grey scarf wrapped around his neck, and drooping behind his back on the right side down to his knees. His jaw was missing, having been removed after an assualt on the jungle world of Dxun, where he'd been stung in the mouth by some sort of insect the doctors had never seen before. The amputation had saved his life, but he now spoke by means of a small vocal synthesizer that did an electronic imitation of his voice, planted just under his open throat. His fair skin was bruised and scratched from recent conflicts, and his brown eyes were seized by a ferocious anger.

The Commisioner's Office was a simple boardroom with a long oak table. Men and women dressed in all white versions of the Agency attire and a black domino mask sat behind it. The room was bare, only a large window that allowed a view of the cityscape made the room of any note The Commissioner himself, a little green alien with leaf shaped ears wearing a custom made version of the suit stared at Alek with an expression of disdain.

Senior Investigator Vrook glared at Alek, rising up. "Boyo, you best have a good explanation for why you just barged in here like a bull in a Corellian china shop, or so help me, I'll peg you wit' so many violations yer' arse'll sprout wings and fly off just to escape how fired you're gonna be."

"You killed him," Alek seethed, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the remains of Revan's melted mask, which had had to be removed by a surgical laser from the ravaged face. He contemptuously tossed it across the table, where it stopped just short of hitting the Commissioner.

"Even AFTER he agreed to stand down, even AFTER he decided to adhere to your _cowardice_, you killed him," Alek accused. "You bastards even electrocuted him for Force's sake. Why?! Why would you do this evil thing to an Agency hero?!"

"He was no hero 'o' this Agency, no matter what those bloody journalists say!" Vrook retorted. "You two shoulda been on yer' knees thankin' our tender mercies for not canning the both 'o' you after what happened with Nolin-"

"Vrook!" Commissioner Vandar spoke suddenly, making the room somehow totally still as he held up a hand. "Sit down and shut that damn firecracker you got for a mouth."

Vrook grumbled but went silent a few seconds later, getting back into his seat.

The little green alien in the white suit clambered onto the desk, taking out a small, custom corncob pipe and walking across the table as he struck a match, lighting it.

"Since the Agency was founded over one hundred years ago, I have ran it. I made it what it is today, with help from various administrators. I would never sanction this kind of action against a fellow officer of the law. Are you accusing me of having Revan murdered?"

"Why not?" Alek countered, fists clenching. "You were all scared. Scared of what he gave you. Too afraid to use it on the battlefield, even when it might have helped us win the war even faster!"

"You still dare accuse us of cowardice?" Investigator Vash, a middle aged woman with light skin, a wide nose and graying hair asked, small lips pursing in contempt. "Typical. Nothing we did was ever good enough for the two of you. Look around you, Officer Alek, everyone in this room has killed a Mandalorian, sometimes with our bare hands. I myself did things to survive that I will never be able to get over entirely. But you and Revan-you guys just ate it up. You two were hungry for war. And it was only the Union's need for assistance that made us support you."

"Support? What support? Half the time you were too busy leaving any squads me or Revan led to die."

"Oh, what's the matter Alek? Too drunk on the Force to realize it couldn't solve every problem?" Vrook sneered.

"Vrook, another outburst and I'll have you leave the room," Vandar said quietly, before turning back to Alek. "We had nothing to do with Revan's murder."

"Explain the agency pistol found next to his corpse."

"That could have easily been fabricated, or it could have been an antique," Vandar explained dismissively.

"That doesn't change the fact that you people stood the most to gain from Revan's murder. As long as he's dead, you guys probably think everything can just go back to the way it was, don't you? Back to the point we didn't have to give a damn about the galaxy, just solve our little Force-related crimes and pat ourselves on the back and call it a day."

"Revan's mission went beyond the Agency's focus. We are not meant to solve all of the Galaxy's problems. We are not a cult. We are not vigilantes and we refuse to treat the Force like some sort of God, as Revan wanted to," Vandar replied. "And with these powers he's forced on all of us, every one of the current generation of Agents-yourself included-has the potential to turn into another Rae Nolin and start another bloody conflict. Read my lips Alek: We will never allow what happened at the old precinct to ever happen again, and if that means Revan or your own misguided ambitions for the Force have to be cut to size, than so be it. Did we want to murder Revan? Of course we did! He put the entire galaxy in danger by exposing what the Force is truly capable of. Were we stupid enough to actually do it? Of course not! Not when he has a bunch of die-hard followers such as you up in arms over his untimely passing. Just look outside!" Vandar finished, gesturing to the window.

Alek went past the scowling Investigators and peered out through the window, looking below in the precinct courtyard.

Revan's brown and blue-robed followers had massed there, hundreds of men and women now wearing copies of his golden face-mask, all of them were holding up signs like TELL US THE TRUTH or COWARDS.

"This bloody 'Jedi Knight' business has started a schism that may well destroy everything this agency stands for!" Vash exclaimed angrily.

"And what do we stand for exactly? We serve at the boot heel of the government. We should be guiding it to a better state, not jumping when they tell us to!" Alek said just short of a roar.

"Are you listening to yourself?! Get it through your head, Alek, as long as any one of us still stands, this Agency will never be what you want it to be!" Vandar proclaimed. "Now you get down there and you tell those Force drunk cultists to disperse, or I'll order SWAT to 'make' them disperse. Am I clear!?"

"Crystal," Alek replied coldly. "Just one problem. How is SWAT going to make us? We embrace the Force. You and those like you cower in fear of it! It would be a short fight, I think."

"I knew it!" Vrook spat, rising from his seat. "You wanted this war all along! It wouldn't matter whether or not Revan lived, you would have found some other excuse to rebel! Some other reason to destroy the Agency!"

Alek stared at him, incredulous, and the same time realizing things had gotten too heated, he'd come here looking for the truth, and instead found himself just a hairsbreadth away from a full blown insurrection.

"I do not seek to to destroy the Agency," he said, getting his anger back under control as the new Jedi way demanded. "I seek only justice for a friend taken too soon."

"Liar!" Vrook accused. "Your continuing refusal to abandon these dangerous teachings-as well as refusing to help us control Revan's cult-only proves what I have said about the both of you all along!"

"Enough, Vrook, leave the room!" Vandar ordered.

"I will not!" Vrook shouted. "This man will destroy us if we don't stop him, and you're all too blind to see it!"

Vrook went for his pistol but the other investigators in the room were up instantly trying to stop him, trying to get his weapon away from the aging man as Alek slowly backed away, shocked and saddened that the devide had grown so bitter, so quickly, and ashamed that his own temper had exacerbated the situation.

"No, Vrook, NO!" Vash yelled, wrenching his pistol away finally as the others forced him to the ground.

"He's gonna destroy us ALL!" Vrook shouted as a red Twi-Lek man-Zhar-pulled out a pair of neural restraints.

"Throw him in a cell, we'll figure out what to do later-" Vandar started to say.

His sentence was cut short as a bright red blaster bolt pierced the window, and slammed into Vandar's head. Green blood splashed across Alek's face as the alien fell forward on the table, dead.

Everyone went still, shock freezing them in place. It seemed like an eternity before Alek himself moved to check the body for a pulse, only to be shoved away by the other investigators, who swarmed Vandar, screaming and crying as they knelt next to the body.

Vash stared at Alek with nothing less then open fury. "You sick cult bastards. This is retaliation for something we aren't even guilty of. You know what? I'm glad somebody took Revan out. And I hope somebody keeps taking you freaks out."

"We had nothing to do with this-" Alek began.

Vrook cut him off, still numbed by shock. "Enough. You're all under arrest. If we have to beat the truth out of every last one of you than that's what we'll do. Cuff him."

"You can't arrest me! This is a total violation of due process!" Alek protested. "Listen to yourselves. You're about to break the law."

"Cuff. Him," Vrook repeated.

The others looked a moment at Vrook but then shook their heads.

"He's right, much as we hate to admit it," Zhar said grimly, yet staring with the same hateful glare at Alek. "We'll need evidence." He turned to Alek. "Beat it. Before I decide to ignore protocol."

"Let me help with the investigation, to prove my side's innocence-" Alek protested.

"How interesting that you did not extend us a similar benefit of the doubt," Zhar replied dismissively. "Leave."

Alek's shoulders sagged in defeat. Just as he had turned around to leave the Office, however, an alarm sounded through the Buildings PA system.

"Alert! All available Agency Personnel! Mandalore has escaped military custody! Mandalorian rescue attempt believed imminent! All available personnel report to Arca Jeth Memorial Spaceport on the double! This is a Code Black! Repeat, this is a CODE BLACK!" a male voice exclaimed over the system.

One hour earlier...

Arca Jeth Memorial Spaceport.

Mayor Jack Rand, a handsome man of medium height with beige skin, slightly boyish looks and fastidiously gelled and combed hair that was parted neatly down the middle stood with his entourage of aides and advisors on the giant tarmac of the spaceport, the carved animal buildings of the city only seen faintly and distantly through the snow storm, the sleet of which blanketed everything except the lights for the run way.

Jack wore a simple pair of black slacks and shoes with a white shirt, overlaid by a thin burgundy vest that had little images of Pazaak cards embossed on the surface. The shirt barely concealed a tattoo of a man in full court jester regalia, funny two pronged hat and all, otherwise known as a 'Fool'. Next to him stood his personal henchwoman, the tall muscular Arren Kae, a woman whose beauty seemed to be only slightly fairer than the snow around her with short cut hair that seemed to be colored like the white-out surrounding them. She wore a cat suit made of black leather, with black, knee high boots that had a steel toe. Covering her hair, was a black leather cap, rounded and with a brim in front like that of the standard municipal police. She leaned gently against her sword, a Katana with no guard, just a black lacquer handle and sheath.

"Any leads on Revan's murder, lover girl?" he asked slyly, watching the skies for sight of the transport.

"None yet. Scoured the scene before I let the Jedi Forensics team in but found scant clues. The blaster is being analyzed, as well as the blood found in the rock garden. As soon as I find anything, you'll be the first to know, handsome," Arren replied in a velvety, yet husky tone.

"Look! There it is!" one of his aides, a Rodian, pointed out.

The transport was rocket shaped, flying in on forward swept wings with twin ion engines mounted on both. It was painted silver, and on the side of its hull bore a curious decal of a blond woman with an inviting smile and figure and a perfect tan dressed in a bikini and holding a plain brown box that was open at the top but showed only black on the inside as she had a finger to her lips. Underneath the decal were the words, written in cursive, UNION SPACE SHIP HARBINGER.

The ship descended from the clouds, traveling the length of the runway as its decelerators finally kicked in and the large vessel stopped in mid-air, gently lowering itself to the ground, it's cone shaped nose only ten meters above the crowd.

An exit ramp extended towards them from the bottom of the vessel, Soldiers dressed in black and red camouflage fatigues with yellow berets escorted a man encased in a large, jar-like cell that floated via repulsorlift with a transparisteel casing, allowing him to be visible. He wore a set of blue overalls. He was tall, and his face was concealed by a burgundy colored mask with a mottled textured to its surface, with only a thin tinted visor to see out of.

"Mandalore! Such an unexpected honor to have a guest of your caliber on Coruscant!" Rand spoke in a jovial manner, his easygoing lighthearted voice filled with mirth.

"Mayor Rand. The leader of the corrupt cesspit that is this particular sector of Coruscant," Mandalore replied dismissively, his actual voice obscured by a harsh, grating vocal synthesizer. "I am surprised the President himself has not come to claim me. Pray tell, where is he?"

"Delayed by business in another sector. Some sort of treaty fell through."

"Unsurprising. The Union never could keep track of who honors their deals and who doesn't. I was doing the Galaxy a favor trying to wipe it from history," Mandalore replied calmly.

"Keyword: Trying. You know what isn't a keyword in your reply? Succeeding," Jack shot back, approaching the cell. "You're mine for the next three hours. President asked me to parade you through the city, like you're just another curiosity at a circus."

"Are you so certain I am beaten?" Mandalore asked. "I have many followers. Many plans. If I am here, It is because I choose to be here. My will has always been greater than that of this pathetic rabble that calls itself a democracy, or that band of sorcerers." He placed his hand against the transparent surface. "You are but one more cog in the machine that is my ambition. Even now, you dance at my command, yet you do not see the notes I command you to tap your feet to, do not see my chains around your neck. You are mine, Jack Rand, along with the Union and the Agency."

Jack grimaced. "Take this arrogant piece of slime to city-lockup. No way can he escape."

"Yes, take me to your little jail, grifter. Perhaps your whore assassin will provide some entertainment while I wait at this meaningless interval."

"Don't count on it," Arren sneered, unsheathing her sword slightly. "You're nothing but bantha fodder. There's no way your followers can save you."

"They always say that there is no way until someone finds a way," Mandalore responded in disinterest that bordered on clinical. "I hear my perennial enemy met his end late last night. A shame. I would have like to squeeze the life from his eyes myself. He fought honorably, sorcerer's ways notwithstanding."

Jack peered at him. "How the hell do you know that? The government hasn't even announced it yet."

Mandalore chuckled but spoke no further.

One of the soldiers, a large male cathar with brown fur and pronounced feline features spoke up. "Mayor Rand, we have to move. Tarmac's too exposed."

"Of course, let's move, people!" Jack announced and the group started their way to the sprawling spaceport facility.

As they were within a dozen meters of the large cargo entrance that they were to use as a back door with very little publicity, all hell broke loose as blaster fire erupted from the sides of the cargo bay doors as a dozen Mandalorian soldiers dressed in white winter fatigues and face masks with t-shaped visors decloaked in front of them, killing the squad of escort soldiers and all of the aides instantly. It had happened literally so fast, Rand and Arren hadn't even had time to blink before a situation that looked well in hand over a minute ago suddenly violently turned against them as the Mandalorians trained their long, slender blaster rifles on the pair. Arren merely kept her sword at the ready.

"Greetings Canderous!" Mandalore proclaimed as the leader of the Mandalorian squad stepped forward, saluting.

"By my honor Mandalore," Canderous Ordo spoke, face unreadable behind his own elaborately engraved silver mask. He took out a small lump of a grey, clay like material and slapped it against the transparisteel as Mandalore backed away.

The material suddenly seemed to turn molten, sinking into the transparisteel surface and creating a hole that spread ever wider, dripping bits of molten substance along the edges. After a second the melting process stopped and the edges of the hole suddenly seemed to freeze over like ice as Mandalore leapt through the hole and landed on the snow.

"Much better," the leader of all Mandalorians stated, dusting snow off of him as he approached Jack Rand, who, to his credit, stood his ground.

"I ain't scared of you," Rand spoke, spitting on the mask of Mandalore.

"That's okay, Mayor Rand," Mandalore replied, grabbing Rand by the collar with both hands. "We have plenty of time...to correct that error in judgment."

Bastila, Juhani, and Dradus Mocke all sat at a table, trying to piece together the crime.

"Okay, here is what we know so far," Bastila began. "Revan knew his killer. That much is obvious. He also obviously trusted him or her enough to let them into the house. His killer than pulls a pistol of Jedi make-or something fabricated to resemble a pistol of Jedi make-and hits him several times in the chest. But Revan's a fighter, and he powers through it, drawing his light saber. Duel erupts, killer panics, and uses Force lightning to electrocute him to death. Killer escapes, injures themselves somehow and leaves a few drops of blood on the rock garden."

"You also contaminated the crime scene," Mocke added, "which might possibly frustrate attempts to get an accurate read on DNA evidence."

"So that leave us two tasks," Juhani spoke. "One, we need to investigate people that Revan knew, anyone who might be harboring grudge. And who does Revan know?"

The three thought a moment. "Alek," they all said at once.

"But Alek Revan's friend, no?" Juhani asked.

"Wouldn't be the first time a version of Alek tried to usurp the power of a version of Revan," Mocke replied. "But something about this whole thing is still nagging at me..."

"What is it?" Bastila asked.

"Well...how did his killer cut himself? If this was a light saber duel, why wouldn't it simply cauterize the wound?"

"Perhaps Revan scratched his attacker really good," Juhani suggested.

"Revan had gloves on, Juhani, remember?" Bastila said. "Its possible the killer could have pulled a knife in an attempt to catch Revan off guard-but in a light saber duel, the weapons are usually limited to those of that class of fighting. If it was a knife, why would Revan bother trying to get it away from his attacker? He had a light saber, and there's no way anybody in this dimension knows about the resistive effects of cortosis, except maybe one of the Prisoners you're chasing, Dradus."

"But even so, what is point of using knife at all when one has light saber?" Juhani asked. "And how would fight have had to go for killer to end up cutting themselves?"

"We're missing something here," Mocke said. "The second objective should be obtaining access to the Jedi Forensics Lab in their precinct."

"What we do first though? Go see Alek? Or go to Forensics Lab?" Juhani wondered.

"Forensics Lab should be top priority. We can always go and see Alek," Mocke said. "Since you two have counter-parts here already, you should fit right in."

"And what will you be doing during all this, Mocke?" Bastila asked.

Mocke still hadn't taken his form fitting black helmet off, making his face still a mystery. "I will be investigating any possible leads on my own troubles."

"Dradus, how can you even be certain they here, on Coruscant?" Juhani wondered.

"The Force tells me so. Just because my version of the Order prefers a technological bent does not mean we are less attuned to the Force. They are here. Or will be here, shortly," Mocke answered, "Of course, I will be more than happy to assist you while you are on your own mission via hyperspace com-link. He tossed the pair two small silver cylinders with a mini-microphone attached.

Bastila whistled. "Hyperspace com-link technology? My version of the Republic has been trying to crack that secret for years!"

"Small wonders," Mocke replied, rising. Ever imposing in his forbidding black leather jacket, black slacks and white shirt, he went over to one of the weapon racks in the warehouse they were all hiding in and removed a simple black long sword with glowing orange edges and a leaf shaped tip, a spherical piece of blue amber set as the pommel of the hand and a half hilt. Bastila and Juhani rose, still disguised in this Dimensions' version of Jedi wear, her in a brown trench coat and slacks with a white shirt and white domino mask, Juhani in a red bodysuit with matching mask with black boots.

"As a matter of fact, a disturbance in the Force causes me to take up arms and head to the spaceport. I'll contact you once I'm there," Dradus said. "Good luck."


	3. suspects and forensics report

"Okay, what do we know?" Alek asked Mira, a woman with light skin, fiery red short cropped hair and almond shaped eyes and mouth. She was clad in a green leather cat suit with white boots and a domino mask. The pair, along with dozens of other Jedi Agents, were assembled in the wide, spaceport lobby, decked in marble and that same, imposing art deco style, with support pillars, signs, and lobby walls covered in a thin sheet of bronzium. Winged statues of men and women in toga-like clothing guarded the sides of each entry way, a great golden globe that served as a holographic schedule sign floating midway to the high ceiling, all flights listed as DELAYED, the ticket terminals abandoned after word of the terrorist attack had spread. The terminal was a ghost town, save for them. After the incident with Rae Nolin, Mira had almost quit the Agency, but had been persuaded by Alek to stay. Still, she had kept her distance from both him and the rest of Revan's followers, choosing to rely on standard operating procedure from that point forward. He hadn't seen her carry a light saber since. Frustrating really. Mira was extraordinarily powerful, and had she chosen to embrace her gifts instead of run from them, she would have been a massive boon to the movement. Considering her distrust of Revan, Alek was amazed she had listened to him at all, but then again at the time the incident with Nolin had ended, Alek had started having his own doubts. Perhaps Mira had thought he would start to fear the Force as she did. Nowadays she only spoke to him when she had no choice, which was now, when every agent had to work together.

"Mandalorian Squad infiltrated the Cargo Bays via smuggling themselves onboard a tibanna gas transport tanker. Half hour later, they surprise Mandalore's military escort and Mayor Jack Rand's entourage-"

Alek cut her off. "Wait. You said the Mayor is here?"

"Yeah. Why?" Mira asked in her soft elegant tone.

"Something's wrong. Why would the Mayor be involved?" Alek knew of Jack Rand by reputation: He was dirty as dirty got, had most of the city in his pocket. Arren Kae, a former Jedi Agent, served as his personal assassin, but the Agency had never been able to nail him for anything, despite some very sincere efforts. Rand's ailbi's were always duracrete-solid. But his reputation wasn't so clean that the higher ups didn't know he wasn't honest: There was no way he would be trusted with anything this sensitive by the government. He shouldn't have even been here!

"Do we know whether or not Rand is still alive, what about that Kae woman?"

"Camera's show the squad separating the two. After that, the team holding Kae just vanishes off the map. Security goes dead. The camera's also show Mandalore dragging Jack into a room and then exiting with him about ten minutes later, with a blaster stuck in Rand's face. The Squads following their movements closely the whole time," Mira answered. "Logistically speaking, Mandalore shouldn't have been able to pull this off. 'Somebody' gave him insider information. 'Somebody' lured Rand out here, just so Mandalore could have a high-value hostage," Mira finished.

"And somebody shot Vandar while all this was occurring. No way this isn't connected," Alek affirmed. "I want a four man squad assigned to each exit, and somebody get me a technical readout of this building, I want to know exactly where they'll go if-"

A male human agent, dark skinned and wearing standard agency wear cut him off. "Hold on, why are you giving orders?"

"I've fought the Mandalorians before. I know what I'm doing," Alek replied.

The Agent stepped back. "I'm not taking commands from you. You and your freaks murdered Vandar. We haven't even had a chance to move his corpse!"

"We had nothing to do with his death! We're innocent!" shouted a female Agent wearing brown and blue robes and a copy of Revan's mask.

"Sure you are," the standard agent snorted. "You freaks turned us all into monsters during the wars and now you want to turn us into vigilantes to boot-"

"We were given these powers for a reason!" the female agent retorted. "Why shouldn't we use them to help the less fortunate?!"

"We can't control these powers. Look what happened to Rae Nolin!" the man shouted back.

"There you cowards go again! Always propping Nolin up as an excuse to hide behind!"

"Better a coward than a traitor!"

Alek wasn't fast enough to stop the two from rushing each other. Suddenly agents wearing the standard suits and agents wearing the mask and robes were in a slugging match with each other.

A pistol fired into the air. That pistol was held by Zhar.

"Alright, cut the crap!" he shouted. "You're professionals! This not the time OR the place! You two, the ones who started the brawl, you're officially reprimanded! A house divided cannot stand!"

"I follow the will of the Force, not the earthly decrees of earthly men," the female agent replied calmly. "I obey only because it says I should."

"You're delusional," Zhar replied simply. "Everyone in the robes can leave if they don't think my orders are valid. Just don't expect to be working tomorrow."

"We're not going anywhere," another male robed agent replied.

"And another thing. I catch any Agent using a certain banned energy weapon that functions like a sword, I will personally see them drummed out of the service. We're not savages, people. There's a reason blasters were invented," Zhar finished. "Set up a squad at all security checkpoints and exits. Nothing gets in or out. Alek and Mira, I want you both to double-time it to the contraband wing of the terminal where Mandalore is believed to have barricaded himself. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," they both said at once.

"I'd also like to remind you that Vandar's death has yet to be investigated, and that there is no reason at all to throw out accusations...unless some of you are actively seeking an excuse for conflict," Zhar added. "And to those still obeying standard protocol...the shadow of suspicion falls just as heavily on us in regards to Revan's murder. We don't have a pedestal to climb on. We've all killed with the Force, we've all used a light saber at one point...it's just that the ones in the robes grew too used to it." Zhar went silent, taking a seat at the terminal benches, eyes falling on a discarded holozine, a flat, square object thin as a piece of paper with an electronic feed and imaging processor. It had Revan's mask on the front, shattered in two. Underneath it were the words REVAN FOUND DEAD IN APARTMENT. GALAXY MOURNS.

"Not me, Revan. Not me..." he said under his breath.

Mira and Alek moved silently through the giant, pastel colored corridor that connected the terminal to the Contraband Wing. Along its walls were bronzium reliefs of elk or the city the Spaceport was located in. Mira had pulled out two twin silver pistols, slim and cylindrical in design. Alek had pulled out a heavy duty pistol he had acquired during the war, considerably more squared and angular in make. It was black, had a long barrel, and a small laser sight had been attached. Alek had etched the agency symbol onto the side crudely, with a diamond tipped drill bit.

The security shutters slammed down in front and behind when they were half way to the other end.

Mira went over to a nearby security panel. "Give me two minutes and I can have this open."

"Sorry Mira. In a rush," the jawless man answered. He stretched out his hand and sent a pulse of Force Energy that ripped open the shutters in front of them, making a hole big enough for them both to move through easily.

Mira stared at him. "You know those techniques have been banned, Alek. Are you trying to get written up?"

Alek folded his arms. "The Commissioner's attempt to ban and limit what we can all do naturally is unrealistic. What I did wasn't evil."

Mira's eyes widened and she went somewhere else for an instant, her face twisting in agony as she went back to that day on Ossus where she'd given in to the Dark Side. "That's exactly what he said to me," she spoke quietly, beads of sweat dripping down her brow, heart hammering in her chest as she put a hand to it, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

Alek raised an eyebrow. "Who? Mira, what's wrong?"

"Rae Nolin, twelve seconds after he murdered my husband," Mira answered, undisguised hatred in her voice at the man's memory.

Alek put an arm out towards her. "Mira...I'm so sorry. I had no idea..."

Mira backed away. "And you ask why I think the Force is evil," she muttered. "I blocked it out at first. I didn't want to accept what I had seen with my own eyes. He was unconscious, I kept telling myself. I'll get him a doctor later. When Revan told me what I had known all along, I lost it. Everything came flooding back. Mical falling...Nolin...grinning."

"You never said anything," Alek responded gently, drawing closer. "I never heard that in the official report you gave."

"It wasn't anybody's business," she replied harshly, her armor going back up. "But as long as you and Revan got your little cult up and running it didn't matter who got stepped on in the process."

"Mira...it DOES matter. It matters to me. Revan...he was my friend, but he wasn't without his flaws. He focused on his goals...sometimes to the detriment of those around him. He believed in his dreams so much that sometimes he'd be willing to make almost any excuse. He saw the Mandalorians for the threat they were, and he needed the entire agency to beat them. He got what he wanted, but I don't think he ever really paid attention to the toll the war took on the Agency, or on those who didn't ascribe to his beliefs. And his followers wonder why there's so much bad blood, and why I won't step up to lead them just yet."

Mira brushed aside his admissions with total contempt. "Get away from me you jawless freak." She then went through the hole.

Alek sighed. He had much to do in order to redeem the actions of Revan in the eyes of the Agency.

Dradus was positive one of the prisoners was here. He could sense it, feel his presence as he got out of the brown and white wedge-shaped speeder after landing it on the tarmac.

The most frustrating thing to Dradus about his assignment was not only dealing with three prisoners, but being unsure which he was dealing with. He had a database, but these people had had five years to change their appearance. It wasn't trustworthy.

The helmeted Jedi pulled out his black long sword-he rarely used light sabers after he'd been tricked into using one that had been sabotaged, taking most of his face as it had blown up. Reconstructive surgery had done what it could, but he normally kept the helmet on to avoid the inevitable spells of vomiting in others that his former good looks now induced.

Ignoring the cold his black jacket and black slacks did little to protect against, he quickly made his way to an open cargo bay at the back end of the terminal. His helmet scanned the building and instantly provided a detailed set of blueprints and life signs moving about the building, to the inner visual display on his black, smooth faceplate.

"Computer, isolate life signs with molecular frequencies bearing traces of multiversal transportation methods," he ordered in his thick Concord Dawn accent, wincing slightly as the nonstop snowstorm picked up, obscuring everything just a few meters ahead of him. His helmet had to digitally remove the snow from his display and extrapolate his surroundings using the technical readouts of the spaceport structure.

"Attempting trace..." the computer replied in a female electronic voice. "Error. Active Jamming Enabled."

"So he's prepared," Mocke spoke aloud as he made his way through the snowstorm. "Good. I love me a challenge. I do so wonder which one I'm chasing. A version of me? Of Revan?"

"Likelihood of facing multiversal counterpart: twenty-three percent probability. Hostage Situation does not match most known Jedi Exile operational methods. Likelihood of facing Revan counterpart: One hundred twenty-six percent probability. Holding action at spaceport seemingly irrational, suggesting deeper military strategy in tune with most known operating procedures involving variations of this individual," the helmet's internal computer replied.

"Are you saying he could have escaped hours ago if he had wanted?" Mocke asked, ducking into the Cargo entrance and making his way past loading machinery, cranes, and repulsorlift carts.

"Affirmative. Hostage Situation suggests he is waiting for something."

"Or someone," Mocke added. "But how would he know I was coming?"

"Probability of using salvaged tech from Dark Peregrine to predict your actions: One hundred percent," the computer answered.

Just before Mocke exited the cargo bay he spotted something odd: a city maintenance transport, bearing the simple tube shape that was common for large transports of this dimension, with two pairs of forward swept, stubby stabilizer wings lain on top of each other at the back of the craft, giving it an X-shape when viewed from the front and back, where the simple ion thrusters were located.

On the side of the transport was a small sticker that read. "This vehicle not authorized for travel to anywhere except designated city power sources, construction sites, or demolition sites. Report immediately if vehicle is found abandoned."

Mocke filed the sight away in his mind for later consideration as he exited the bay and found himself in a darkened section of the spaceport. He noticed a security shutter that had a rather large hole with no visible means of explosive used.

"Force energy use detected, proceed two hundred meters to your left," his computer instructed. "Warning! High Midichloral count detected in multiple subjects! Exercise extreme caution."

Mocke proceeded down the adjacent corridor and found himself in a cramped series of office cubicles and lockers, holding confiscated material. He spotted two Mandalorians patrolling and got behind the wall of a cubicle on the far end of the room, waiting for the moment when he could act.

When the white-clothed soldier moved closer, Dradus' hand shot out, focusing his will and making the Mandalorian lose consciousness instantly. Dradus caught him as he fell and gently laid him out on the floor. He then made his way silently, crouching constantly, to the other Mando as soon as his back was turned. Dradus quickly grasped the masked Mandalorian's head, and willing the man to sleep. He gently laid him out on the floor like he had with the other, and then smiled to himself as he felt a pistol point at his head.

"Was wondering when you two would show yourselves," Mocke spoke dryly as he turned around, and stared at a woman in a green leather bodysuit that hugged her tightly, a bald man missing his lower jaw in a red pinstripe suit with a long grey scarf glowering at him and pointing his large pistol at him.

"Y'know, its generally impolite to point a weapon at someone. Why don't we get to know each other first? We could have dinner. Watch a film," he said to the red headed woman, before turning to the jawless man. "We'd have to ditch the third leg though. I get the feeling he's not the type who even really enjoys a meal these days-"

"Shut up," Mira spat. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Dradus didn't answer.

Mira shoved her pistol close to the faceplate. "I won't ask again."

"I thought I was supposed to shut up," Dradus joked.

"At least he follows instructions," Alek muttered. "Whoever you are, you're interfering with Agency matters. And you don't look like you're with SWAT."

"Relax. I'm a lawman, like you," Dradus reassured.

"Oh?" Mira asked, raising an eyebrow as she backed away. "And just who are you here to arrest?"

"To be truthful I'm not sure," Mocke answered. "But they came from the Dark Peregrine. And I'm sure you both know what a delightful little treasure chest that place was."

Alek and Mira both did a double-take.

"Wait...you...you aren't from around 'here' are you?" Alek asked stepping forward, grimacing with what was left of his face. "About bloody time! You're about seven years late!" he yelled, grabbing Mocke with one hand by the collar of his jacket.

"We pride ourselves on speedy service," Mocke joked again. "Don't ruin the jacket. It's rancor leather."

"What the hell's a rancor?" his would-be capturers both asked.

Mocke chuckled, unhooking his jacket from Alek's grip. "Oh, your Jedi are going to have such fun when you first meet one. Why spoil the surprise?"

"We should take him in for questioning," Mira suggested. "He might know how to destroy that damn statue we got locked away in evidence."

"Now Mira, let's not be hasty," Alek said, turning to Dradus. "My apologies. This is no way to greet a guest from...so far off. You're here to capture someone, you said?"

"Yes, but they've been here seven years, so they could have changed their appearance. I won't know until I sense them up close," Mocke answered, giving his long sword a twirl. "Or until they decide to let my weapon taste them."

"Savage," Mira snorted. "And this is what Revan wanted us to become. I see no improvement beyond getting up close and personal, and that tactic eventually becomes limiting."

"I have a sneaking suspicion I know who he's after," Alek spoke, things clicking together in his head. "Ten creds says he's after Mandalore."

"Mandalore?" Mira asked, lips pursing as she paced about. "Makes sense. Mandalore really didn't become a problem until about three years ago. Hell, none of us had even heard of him before that. I suppose he could have buried his past when he assumed his role as the Mandalorian's leader."

"Mandalore? Oh, you clever bastard..." Dradus trailed. "Computer, bring up the file on the Dark Peregrine's prisoner manifest. Isolate those identities with an affinity for Mandalorian Culture."

"Isolating...match located. One match found. Revan of Universe 44-44. Displayed an early history of questioning the tenants of the Order, and a marked frustration whenever his suggestions for modifying how the order operated were rejected wholesale. Eventually came to believe that a culture at peacetime-what the Order essentially promotes-is doomed to corruption and inefficiency as well as a loss of a moral center after his repeated attempts to interfere in the Galaxy's slavery ring was stopped for becoming too violent by the Jedi, who did not seem to appreciate the fact that his mother had been sold into slavery when he was a padawan. Enraged, he resigned from the Order and drifted across the galaxy, eventually finding himself among the Mandalorians, whose Force powers he hid from them as he desired to assimilate into their culture, eventually marrying the Juhani of his dimension, who in this case was a Mandalorian warrior who never made it into the Order. He concluded that a culture that is warlike and forced to maintain a code of honor to prevent fragmentation-is inherently more moral than culture that finds it easy to be moral when things are going well. He rose through the ranks, became Mandalore and almost conquered his galaxy. He is responsible for billions of civilian deaths, personally executing twelve people he felt were incapable of living up to his standards and crucifying the entire Jedi Council. His wife eventually grew disillusioned with the Mandalorian way because of his actions and personally betrayed him during what was supposed to be his final battle with his Republic. She personally gave the technical readouts of the Mass Shadow Generator to Bastila Shan, who transmitted the activation signal while all his forces were still in its proximity, and before he could lure the Republic closer. His entire navy was destroyed, and the Mandalorian survivors are reportedly only a few dozen. Our Universe had been in contact with his for some time, so they shipped him to us so he could be imprisoned forever in a pocket dimension, exiled from all he knows," the Computer finished.

"Well, that sucks," Mocke said.

"What sucks?" Alek asked, not having heard the computer speak, as only Mocke was meant to hear its information.

"We're dealing with a bleedin' heart activist up to his old tricks," Mocke snapped. "Let's go."

The trio spotted a whole squad of Mandalorians patrolling the sparse security area beyond the contraband wing, generally maintaining a position around a large, rectangular booth filled with computer terminals that controlled this sector. Dradus spotted a few camera spheres dotting the ceiling. The area was a sterile white, and looked generally much cheaper than the rest of the area, which was filled to the brim with scanning equipment.

The trio of Jedi ducked behind a corner wall in the path leading to the security booth. Alek stole a look and spotted Mandalore, clad in a blue jumpsuit and his mottled, burgundy mask, standing guard over Mayor Jack, who looked worse for the wear, his expensive clothes torn and his face bruised. His head hung down as Mandalore paced back and forth in the booth, a blaster pistol in hand. Alek didn't spot Arren, but that could be because they were keeping her somewhere else. He noticed a slew of dead security officer in bloodied white shirts and black pants lying strewn about.

"There he is," Alek said. "But how do we get to him? Without getting the Mayor killed, I mean?"

"Do we really have to bother?" Mira asked. "Jack Rand's been a thorn in the Agency's side for years. I wouldn't mind watching him get 'accidentally' killed in 'tragic' circumstances 'beyond our control'."

"We're still officers of the law, Mira. We'll conduct ourselves as such-" Alek whispered.

The ceiling collapsed on them with much greater force than should have been possible, knocking them both out cold, with Dradus barely getting away, deflecting bolts with his sword as the squad opened fire on him down the exposed hall as he charged.

"I see your accursed dimension decided to send someone!" Mandalore called out over the PA system, his harsh, grating synthetic tone amplified. "I've seen that kind of helmet only once before! On my captors!"

Dradus didn't reply. He was too busy burying his sword into a Mandalorian's gut, which he then yanked out through the side, expertly cleaving through the neck of another Mandalorian who rushed him with a bayonet. The others kept their distance, continuously firing as Dradus yanked some of them forward with the Force, swiping them with his sword and then blasting them into his remaining foes.

"Well done!" Mandalore exclaimed. "Your skill is impressive. And you aren't too cowardly to use a sword either! I have the honor of addressing-?"

"Dradus Mocke, The Black Knight of the Forest That Smiles," Dradus answered. "Don't bother asking. You wouldn't be familiar with the place, Mandalore...or should I call you Revan?"

"That name no longer means anything to me. I am Mandalore, leader of all Mandalorians," Mandalore answered, yanking Jack up and dragging him with him out of the booth. "You must adhere to the Jedi way, no matter what reality you hail from, no? Then understand this: I am leaving. With my hostage. And you will not stop me."

"Go ahead and do him. I've been in this reality for about a month. He's crooked like my grandmother's back."

"You are wise, not to value the life of the immoral," Mandalore replied in admiration. "I imagine your masters chastise you for your view?"

"I'm not really a Jedi, more...a consultant I guess," Dradus answered. "I resigned my commission after-oh, hell, what do you care? You're just stalling."

"True. But nonetheless I find the conversation stimulating. I suppose you're here to arrest me?"

"You've hurt a lot of people, Mandalore. Billions of civilian deaths can be lain at your feet," Dradus replied, advancing guarding with his sword at the same time. "Did you really believe there would be no consequences to that kind of pain you fostered?"

"I prefer to think of it as separating wheat from tares. The galaxy was filled with a bunch of listless immoral people who had no loyalties to any other then a selfish focus on their own family. They let their governments become corrupt, they wasted their intellectual power on that which serves no purpose, such as fictions like 'art' or 'Peace in our time'. Not enough discipline to properly distribute resources so that everyone could be looked after. They couldn't even be bothered to look after their own damn health!" Mandalore retorted, backing away with Jack. "In Mandalorian culture if you're weak, you fail. If stupid, you die, if selfish, you're cast out of clan. If wasteful, you're punished. If corrupt, no one deliberates on a committee what to do with you. They shoot you and let someone stronger and wiser take your place. There's no decadence, no turning the other cheek. As a Mandalorian, you get only what you deserve, and you deserve only what you can earn with your own two hands. If that isn't egalitarianism worth killing for, I don't know what is." Mandalore kept Jack in a chokehold as he backed down the other way filled with more security booths and scanning machinery. Suddenly he dropped Jack, telekinetically throwing machinery at Dradus as he ran through the aisle.

Dradus flipped over several pieces of equipment, one clipping his helmet slightly and leaving a scratch on his right side. He sliced in half a desk tossed at him, noting the impressive amount of control Mandalore had with telekinesis. He didn't need to make any of the traditional hand gestures, didn't need to make eye contact to know where to precisely hurl his makeshift missiles.

As Dradus gave chase, untroubled by this fact, Mandalore began pulling parts of the ceiling down. The helmet again digitally removed the dust in the air, allowing him to see his environment clearly as he watched Mandalore sprint, tearing more improvised missiles from the ceiling and hurling them at Dradus

As Mandalore burst through an exit into the spaceports maintenance wings, an area filled with large, shoebox shaped freighters with ion engines mounted on the side, and colored a bright spackle of red and yellow. He began hurling the fusion torch-tipped robotic arms that repaired leaks and rips in the hulls after accidents at Mocke, who was forced to dodge the blazing, shrieking claw like limbs whose metal whined as they were torn from their posts in quick succession, trying to find a perfect moment to let off a blast of telekinesis Mandalore's direction. But he soon put this on hold as several more Mandalorians decloaked in his path, firing with small repeaters that had drum-shaped energy clips attached. Mocke deflected the shots easily, zipping past the unexpected surprise and cleaving through his enemies with quick swipes of his blade, ignoring the blood spray on his face plate that his helmet was forced to remove with a quick burst of repulsor energy.

Mandalore continuously sprinted, not even bothering to fire his weapon as more and more parts of the ceiling and even parts of the freighters began tearing themselves off and hurtling toward Mocke, who was actually forced to rebound off some of them in order to avoid being killed instantly, never taking his focus off Mandalore as he doggedly chased him through the maintenance hanger's dull metal environment, the screeching of tearing metal the only sound he bothered paying attention to, for it signaled death.

Mandalore continued running out onto the exposed tarmac, still in the grip of the snowstorm, at this point a complete whiteout. Only his helmet's ability to track thermal signatures allowed Mocke to track his quarry.

He noticed Mandalore trying to take the mask off as he neared him. Dradus at this point was terribly upset, resolving to knock out one tooth for four pieces of debris that had been hurled at him over the past three minutes. He was so focused on his quarry that he never noticed the other thermal signature until it was too late.

A flash of metal sounded through the air and Mandalore dropped where he stood, headless.

Arren Kae, clad in her black cat suit, hat missing, crouched over the corpse of his prisoner, her ice-like features twisting in hate as she spat on him.

Dradus stopped, in total shock at the anti-climactic moment. Just like that? After hurling practically a mountain of wreckage at him?

"Guess that's the end of the great Mandalore," she said in her husky tone, smirking. She turned as she sensed someone had been not two meters in front of her, but Dradus was already gone, having decided to make a full retreat.

Arren pulled out her com-link. "All Jedi Agents in the vicinity please respond. Mandalore is down. I repeat, Mandalore is down."

Jedi Precinct, Forensics Lab.

Getting into the precinct had been relatively easy, as Bastila and Juhani had discovered. All they had needed to do was walk right through the front gate. One of the guards had even said hi to her and addressed her by name. This multi-verse thing wasn't without its occasional perks. No need to sneak in when, technically, they already worked here.

The lobby was grand, and had been designed with multiple mini-waterfalls that occupied all four corners of the great bonze-colored lobby. A large chandelier had been put in place, glittering crystal sending little sparks of light on the white marble floor with brown veins running through it. The secretary at the desk looked familiar to her. She was pale as ice, with white, long hair that was braided in a ponytail. Her eyes were a striking sapphire blue and she possessed a look of melancholy that seemed to make her high cheek bones seem deeper set into her face. She wore a long, loose brown dress with a white pin that had the name BRIANNA on it in large black letters. She seemed slightly young for this sort of work. Bastila would have pegged her for no older than fifteen, maybe sixteen.

She approached the young lady, who was busy behind a round, enclosed oak booth, busily answering the comm chatter on her computer terminal. A large headset was worn over her ears.

"Yes?" the young lady asked in a soft, quiet tone as she chatted on the headset, "You say that an unauthorized Force User broke into your liquor store last night? What did he take? I see. Okay, leave your name, holo-number, and address, and an agent will come to visit you tomorrow. Thats the earliest we can reach you, being occupied with the terrorist attack and what not...I see," she said, logging the callers information into a flat computer terminal on her desk with a touch sensitive screen. "Okay, your information is logged...we'll contact you at the earliest opportunity. Bye!"

The lady stared at Bastila and Juhani, still in their agency clothing. "Yes officers? Can I help you with something?"

"We were told to report to the forensics lab," Bastila answered. "Coroner said he needed us to make a run for him."

"Really? I don't seem to remember any such appointment scheduled..." the lady replied absently, trying to find the information on her computer. "When were you scheduled?"

Bastila's eyes glowed orange as she turned her mind-control powers on the secretary. "You will give us access. You will ask no questions. You will not report our activities here," she commanded, voice raising an octave and developing a strange echo.

The secretary's eyes glazed over. "Okay. Forensics is in the basement. Morgue is right next to it. Here are your passes," she finished in a deadpan tone, handing the two white cards with the agency symbol on it.

Bastla nodded and departed for the elevator.

"That so badass when you do that," Juhani snickered as they got in.

"I try, Juhani. Thank you," Bastila replied, pressing the button for the basement.

The Forensics Lab/ Morgue was a sterile white room packed with computer terminals and body-lockers recessed into the walls. The floor had a brown and white checker pattern.

An middle aged man with dark skin and a crown of slightly grey yet still very dark hair wearing a white lab jumpsuit with a brown Agency logo on it turned around. He was wearing a surgical mask and he had been examining a body in brown and blue robes. Bastila's stomach turned as she realized she had walked in on Revan's autopsy.

"Yes?" he asked in a light, bookish manner, his brown eyes blinking as he pulled the sheet over Revan's body. "I was kind of in the middle of something."

Bastila's eyes flashed orange. "Found anything out about Revan's death? she asked, voice echoing again, not really applying too much pressure.

"Yes. Troubling, actually," the coroner replied, pulling the sheet up and picking up some tools as he ran a scan on an area of charred flesh. "He was shot multiple times, stabbed with a bladed weapon and then somehow electrocuted by a method I'm unfamiliar with. All of these wounds occurred within minutes of each other," the coroner finished, holding up the slanting, broken off tip of the blade that had been used against Revan with a pair of tongs. The steel of the blade appeared to be of high quality.

"Any idea who his attacker may have been?" Bastila pressed.

"Correction; Attackers," the coroner answered "There were three, to be exact."

"Three?" Bastila asked, brows raising as she began pacing about.

"Forensics picked up the DNA of at least five people, but we're positive he had only three attackers. Witnesses reported a ruckus occurring in his apartment, followed by seven to eight blaster shots that were fired from roughly three meters outside his door. Then there was the sound of an electrical discharge, a scream and then a witness saw the attacker jump down to the bottom of the courtyard from three stories up, leaving a trail of blood on the rock garden there. One witness was positive they saw two more people fleeing the apartment, but in all cases, it was too dark to make a positive identification. Curiously, there was a report of two more people arriving, minutes after the murder was committed, but they fled before they could be identified. We couldn't identify the DNA from these two other intruders."

Bastila exhaled a bit in relief. Her and Juhani's counterparts were safe.

"What can you tell me about the blood sample?" Bastila inquired.

The coroner stared. "Follow me."

The pair followed the man to a full sized holographic display with a projector built into the floor and the ceiling.

"The answer to that unfortunately, is a source of even bigger questions," The coroner began, hitting a button on a nearby terminal and bringing up a full color display of a DNA strand with some of the parts broken or missing.

"I've been doing this for twenty years, and I have never come across a blood sample like this. It's baffling, to be honest," the coroner admitted clinically. "The DNA appears to be in a state of...flux...for lack of a better term."

"Flux?" Bastila repeated.

"Yes. Well, more of an accelerated pseudo-transitional degradation, to be precise," the man replied, gesturing to the strand. "Parts of it seem to be holding tightly while other parts are rapidly breaking down. But there's no pattern. I can't isolate the cause. But that isn't the weirdest part. At times, other parts will regenerate and become as new while other areas will exhibit signs of breakdown. Back and forth this goes, and here is where it gets really strange," the man continued dispassionately, going over to two other examination tables, and pulling off the sheets for both of them.

The pair stared at two desiccated corpses, beyond recognition. One was missing the left hand. The tissue was mummified.

"These bodies were found two weeks ago in the under works when a construction crew's crane accidentally knocked open their space in a sealed wall. We've found traces of a black leather material on one, was in her early thirties, other woman was in their eighties. Thing is, their DNA? Both samples somewhat match the sample of the blood we took from the crime scene, almost like the perp could be a distant relative of the two."

"Where were the bodies found?"

"An abandoned Dura-steel mill that we now know was frequently used as an illicit meeting place for our illustrious Mayor Rand's more shady business dealings. Revan investigated the place many times, I'm told."

"Give me the address," she commanded, eyes glowing again.

Bastila frowned. This case had just gotten much stranger. But she had one more question.

"I have one more question," she said. "Did you identify the origins of the blaster pistol found at the crime scene?"

"Yes. It's definitely one of ours. Antique design that was used to award Agents who fought in the Independence Wars."

"Did you identify the owner?"

"No. That model was commonly given out, as so many agents fought in the final weeks of that conflict. There won't be a serial number as each was made by hand. But get this: it isn't the pistol that fired the shots at Revan."

Bastila blinked. "It isn't?"

"No. The trace amounts of radioactive particles don't match the type of energy the antique uses. It's like it was just...left there."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Bastila said, waving her hand. "You will forget you talked to us."

The man absently repeated what she had said and then slowly went back to his business as the Jedi pair exited the facility.

On the transport back to the under works, where Dradus' hideout was located, Juhani sat next to Bastila.

"So what next?" she asked, stretching her red leather bodysuit as she stared out the window, where the snow had continued unabated.

"We start asking all the people who might have reason to see Revan gone," Bastila answered. "I don't like this Juhani. Not one bit. There are too many unknowns. Who were the other attackers? And what manner of person would have the blood the lab expert described?"

"Perhaps person with rare disease," Juhani suggested quietly.

"Anybody with a disease that rare should have been dead years ago. And that still doesn't explain the two bodies. We should check out that steel mill at the earliest convenience-after we question some possible suspects."

"We going to talk to Alek?"

"Yes," Bastila shuddered at the thought. Darth Malak in her dimension had recently orchestrated the bombing of Telos. She had felt the deaths of millions all the way from Dantooine: she still had nightmares about burning alive under a rain of turbo laser fire. She was not looking forward to this.

In retrospect it had been a good thing that Arren Kae had killed Mandalore, Mira thought as she had left the space port in a classic bronze colored Agency air speeder. Neither faction of Jedi could claim to be the most effective in this instance. After she and Alek had both been treated separately for their wounds, she had been told to go home and recover by Zhar: She would be debriefed tomorrow.

As she arrived back at her apartment-a luxury suite in a much sought after complex in the upper city that was shaped like a series of steel cones joined by transparisteel tubes, she landed the speeder on its designated pad next to other vehicles and took the elevator into her room, where an entire side wall offered her a full view of the city and the traffic whizzing through it.

She had immediately slipped off her bodysuit and hopped into the shower, letting the steaming hot water run through her fiery red hair as she sat down in the steel tub. The bottle was where it usually was nowadays, right next to the tub, sloshing with amber liquid.

She lay in the tub, grabbed it and started swigging, taking her empty pistol and pointing it at yet another poster of Revan heroically standing against dozens of Mandalorians.

The hot water stung her eyes as she pulled the trigger one, two, three times, in quick succession, taking a long swig.

"Man, did you screw everything up," she barked, throat burning from the whiskey. "TRAITOR!" she then yelled.

She had thought for certain that his days as an agent were over after what had happened at the old precinct. Burying friends driven mad by Nolin's power had been the worst part, but, as usually had a habit of occurring, politics had ended up interfering at the worst moment. During the investigation into Revan's activities trying to spread the unauthorized techniques, Mandalore had attacked Coruscant. In a panic, the Union had asked every available agent to supplement their standard troops in repelling the Mandalorian invasion. After Revan and what remained of his followers who hadn't been turned by Nolin ended up saving the President in that incident, and again a few weeks after that, Revan had become politically untouchable. The Media would have had a circus demonizing the Agency for trying to prosecute the President's rescuer, and the Agency hadn't survived so far by being unpragmatic.

And then the wars had come. The Union had begun to lose. The Agency had had no choice but to support Revan to stay afloat with their government watchdogs.

The blaster fire still filled Mira's ears as she remembered how she had been stranded for three days in the jungles of Dxun, fleeing her Mandalorian pursuers. When she escaped, she had been awarded a Union adversity star for demonstrating extreme competence at survival. She'd gotten medals for being injured, for bravery above and beyond the call of duty, and the more medals she had been awarded, the more lives she had ended up saving, the more she hated Revan and his goons for putting her in that position. By the end of the war, she was probably one of the most decorated fighters. Revan himself had presented her the Union Medal of Freedom, much to her visible discomfort. She was called a hero. The thought sickened her. She had thrown her medals into a garbage can that night.

It was funny, she thought as she stared at the poster. One would think with Revan dead, his movement would start to lose power. But neither she nor the Agency understood the nature of martyrdom.

If anything its influence had increased. Cults had that curious ability.

Mira let herself soak in the tub until the water began to lose heat. She unsteadily got up, having drank a third of the bottle and turned the shower off, stumbling unsteadily out and drying herself off. She threw on a shirt and sweats, hit her round cot, and had just started to doze off when she heard a knock at her apartment door.

She snarled and stormed out of her bedroom and stomped to the entrance, letting it slide open.

"What?!" she snapped.

The man in front of her seemed taken aback at her ferocity. He had light skin and dirty blond short hair that curled slightly. It was less than half an inch from his scalp. His face was square and he had a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His dark blue eyes were set in a gaze of concern. He wore the hated brown and blue robes and he was slightly taller than her.

"Forgive me," Kavar said in a dry yet easygoing tone that spoke authority. "May I come in?" Next to him where three more of the so called 'Knights' in their own brown and blue robes.

If it had been any other man, Mira would have slammed the door, But Kavar was still a Senior Investigator: he had power and it would be unwise to oppose him. At least in this instance.

"Knock yourself out," she replied, somewhat literally, before letting him through. She took a seat on the couch. "I see you've been seized by the same delusion Revan held. Never took you for a religious man, Kavar."

"The horrors of war are something not easily escaped. The new teachings provided me a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time," he answered cautiously. "I've been wanting to talk to you about that, as a matter of fact," he continued, pacing on the white carpet.

"The answer is no," Mira replied.

"You didn't even hear what I was going to ask."

"Don't need to. You want me to be in your little bathrobe club."

"It isn't a bathrobe club," Kavar replied tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Its the future of the Agency."

"No it isn't. It's a dead end. You're lying to yourself if you think turning the Force into a religion is going to make things better," Mira snapped, shifting in her seat."

"Mira, do you know how strong you actually are with the Force?" he questioned. "We can all feel it in you. Its awake. Its alive."

"Its evil," she countered, grimacing. "I walked the Dark Side. You haven't."

"That's what makes you important. You could talk about its dangers, teach others to avoid it."

"Another lie. You can't be 'taught' to avoid it. You are either smart enough to avoid it, or too stupid to resist."

"See? Valuable advice already," Kavar countered. "If you were to join our side, you could easily be one of the strongest in our cadre of growing members. You have more decorations for war and bravery than even Revan himself did. You were the war's unsung hero."

"A fact I regret every day," she replied, rising and rudely brushing past one of the knights as she went to the kitchen faucet to pour herself a glass of water. "I was no hero. I was a survivor in a war I never wanted to be a part of. Nothing more."

"Whatever you feel, you made a difference to the lives of millions. I saw you that day at the precinct, during the battle with Nolin's men. Your skill with the lightfoil was amazing!"

"NEVER bring that battle up in my presence," she spat, downing her glass and pouring another, cold sweat on her forehead as she remembered in vivid detail. Her heart started pounding and she put a hand close to her chest, hyperventilating.

"Mira? What's wrong?" he asked, approaching, worry crossing his face.

"Back off," she spat hatefully. "I don't need your help."

"I beg to differ, if the alcohol on your breath is any indicator," Kavar replied, now visibly annoyed. "How much have you been drinking, lately?"

"That's none of your business," she rasped, downing a third glass of water.

"I want to help you, Mira. We all went through some tough times. The Mandalorian savages took their toll on almost everyone in the Agency. But these new teachings can help calm a lot of lost souls, bring new meaning to their lives. The Force isn't evil as long as you use it correctly..."

"There is no correct use. It's the fire of the gods, it's the glitterstim of choice, temptation all rolled into one package to destroy any mortal stupid enough to believe they can master it," Mira shot back, almond shaped lips pursing in distress. "You'll destroy us, she said quietly, eyes watery.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mira. I see now that coming here was a fool's errand. You've clearly made up your mind," Kavar replied, hands on his hips as he stared with marked disappointment at her. "But I can't let the future of the Agency be trampled by the fearful. If you want to hide in despair and guilt that is fine. But tomorrow at Revan's funeral I'm going to speak out against the Agency's policy of banning the new teachings. Everyone knows what I intend. We can't hide under a rock any longer. If you change your mind and wish to stand with us, my door will always be open." he signaled the other knights that it was time to leave and they all silently departed through the front door.

Mira poured another glass of water. "I bet that'll all go over well with the Agency," she said dryly.


	4. Chapter 4: Signals

Coruscant National Cemetery-The next day...

"The hostile takeover of Arca Jeth Memorial Spaceport ended in blood late in the evening yesterday, after the War Criminal Mandalore was found dead on the Tarmac, killed by the personal assistant of Mayor Jack Rand. Rand is said to be recovering and is refusing all requests for a statement. In other news, the suspicious death of the War Hero known as Officer Revan has officially been ruled a homicide by his employer, The Jedi Agency. This shocking instance, so soon after declaring victory over the Mandalorians has been immediately followed by the assassination of Vandar Tokare, leading some experts to believe that someone is targeting Jedi, but for what purpose remains unknown. Revans closest friends and followers are currently on their way to a private funeral for their fallen Leader. Revan stirred controversy at the end of his life by advocating study of the still-mysterious Force that only certain people seem able to use, a desire that is confirmed to have been vigorously opposed by his employers, leading others to believe that the murders may be the result of some sort of internal agency feud that has already claimed the lives of some of its most exalted members. Finally, the spate of nonstop snow storms has weather analysts puzzled at the unusually high activity, as weather controls attempts to correct the situation have been met with curious failure-"

Alek shut off the hyperspace radio in his bronze air speeder convertible. He was dressed in his weekend best, a black set of business clothes with a red shirt and a white tie, a small, red, fedora-like hat covering his bald head. He checked his wrist chrono. The ceremony started in fifteen minutes. He would have been there already, but he had needed some time to think about what he was going to say. He'd never been good at speeches.

As he spotted the section of the city that made up the cemetary, a four-by six kilometer rectangle of green grass with headstones and the groundskeeper house a tiny speck of grey from the height he was at, he saw the famous decal of the place from high up, it was painted onto the marble square at the center of the cemetery: A curvy woman of the Togruta species in a white toga sprouting giant white wings on her back, carrying a shadowed figure in her arms and flying into a bright light above her. She was painted so that her slim face seemed to be winking mischievously at whoever viewed her.

Alek sighed. Revan should be buried here-but he had deserved to be buried here years later, after dying while doing something heroic.

Alek supposed he would have to do that for both of them.

Has he landed in the designated parking lot. He took in the crisp air and frowned at the snow. It had died down, allowing him to see the imposingly tall skyscrapers surrounding them. But the snow still allowed him to barely see them, and the clouds totally blocked out the sun.

It was a further insult, but they had to rush this immediately. Weather Control predicted another snowstorm soon, with seventy kilometer per hour winds.

Alek got out of his speeder and straightened out his suit. He took with him the partially melted mask of Revan in the seat next to him.

Anger surged in him. Whoever had took his friend from this world would pay. If this case went to the top, so be it.

He walked through the winding little cobblestone path carefully, slicked with snow and ice. He stepped in the foot prints of those who had cleared the path before, to reduce his chances of slipping. Finally, he reached the site of the funeral. Revan's coffin was white, with sunflowers painted on the surface. To his surprise, he saw a bunch of white-clothed senior investigators here, sitting in front of other Jedi in the standard attire. On the other side of the coffin sat robed Jedi, the front row of which was dominated by Jedi wearing white robes and all black versions of Revan's mask: His closest supporters other than Alek.

Alek spotted Zhar in the standard group. He went over to him, one eyebrow raised as he proceeded around the coffin, just minutes away from being lowered into the ground.

"I must admit, Mister Zhar, that I am slightly surprised that the old guard would pay my comrade such respect, given the recent vitriol between our factions. You honor us with your presence," Alek said respectfully, bowing his head slightly.

The red skinned man snorted and rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Alek. Only reason we're here is so the Media doesn't bash us for not treating a 'war hero' with the 'respect' that he 'deserves'," the Twi-Lek replied disdainfully. "You won't find one man missing Revan on our side, Alek. Not one!"

"I pity our agency, Zhar," Alek snapped. "To think such cynics as you control it with an iron fist."

"I'd tell you to watch your tongue, Alek-but then I remember you don't have it anymore. One of many 'gifts' Revan's war gave you," Zhar shot back.

"You still won't admit fighting was the right thing to do, even after you help us win!" Alek exclaimed. "Zhar, all of us were brothers and sisters in that conflict. You had to have seen the kind of good we did liberating governments from the cartels-"

"Nothing that couldn't have been done if the Union hadn't been so disorganized," Zhar dismissed. "Revan dragged us in for nothing. He had something to prove. Probably pissed we kept passing him up for promotion, or something like that."

Before Alek could start shouting, Kavar-the only white robed Jedi not wearing a mask-stepped in between them.

"Get ahold of yourselves! This is a funeral, for Force's sake. We'll both look bad if a brawl breaks out!" he yelled, pushing them apart.

Vrook-who had somehow avoided being sent to jail after trying to pull a blaster on Alek-suddenly spoke up. "You're out of your bloomin' head, boyo, if ya think all 'o' us are gonna start whispering fruity prayers to an energy field. Let's bury this good-fer-nothin' and get back to work."

Kavar glared at him. "Y'know Vrook, for a man as cold as you are, you must need to wear a coat all the time. Shall I get you one?" he asked pointedly.

Vrook smiled and just as pointedly, retorted: "No thanks chucklehead. Unlike you, one coat is more 'n' enough fer' the likes 'o' me."

All the Jedi in the brown suits snickered. The middle aged Vash high fived him.

Kavar, who clearly didn't get the insult, just turned and walked to the podium.

"I would like to begin by saying that it is an honor to have you all here. Revan would be flattered that so many would show at his funeral. But he deserves it. After all, despite what some think, I believe that the Agency truly found its calling in the Mandalorian Wars: To oppose evil wherever it crops up," Kavar spoke quietly. "And now that we have entered peacetime, some would like to shelve what we learned. To put it back into some evidence locker in the precinct and pretend it never happened. I am here to tell you that this is the wrong approach to take. A window of possibilities opened to us when that statue showed us the secrets of the Force. But some men are scared. That is understandable. Its wonders are not without its horrors, if Officer Rae Nolin was any indicator. We all shudder at the memory of what went on at that precinct. But should we allow this one incident, however terrible, to permanently color our understanding of the Force? I do not think so. We are not rebels, but comrades. But the days of our simply policing our own kind are over. Now we must turn our attention to the needs of the Galaxy. Its a savage place, rife with lawlessness outside Union borders. Think of the good we could do, driving back the darkness. The more order we bring, the more our beloved Union expands, bringing with it law and civilization. That is why I, Kavar of the Commissioner's Council, am coming out in support of these new techniques. I will do whatever is needed to convince the Council to lift the ban," he spoke with clear defiance, causing the Jedi in the brown suits to start grumbling and whispering among themselves. "Even if that means going over their heads," he added.

Vrook shot up. "You take one step towards a Congressman's office, I'll have you arrested."

"Do what you must, Vrook. But know this: I came hoping to extend an olive branch to the other side. We should not be enemies. You can become part of something great, yet you sit there hiding behind protocol, grumbling and angered that Revan made you fight, hearts hardened by years of working the beat. Is it really so awful that you were forced to give a damn about the Galaxy's troubles?"

"The something that's gonna be great," Vrook replied, spitting on the coffin to the outrage of Revan's supporters, "will be the size 'o' the boot The Agency'll be ramming up the collective arse 'o' you and yer' freaks."

Some of the robed Jedi got up, walking out of the proceedings. Vrook had thrown down the gauntlet. Alek was speechless. The tinderbox was a spark away from lighting.

"I hope you know what yer' doing Kavar," Vrook spoke casually, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one up with an engraved lighter. "If you pursue this, its war. No quarter. You best back down now, if ya' know what's good fer' you and yours."

"I don't wish for a war. But I will not allow you to silence us any more. Maybe the Union will see our true value to society-"

The smoke followed the hissing sound. The smoke covered the entire perimeter surrounding the grave site within seconds.

Shots rang out. A scream followed. Alek fell out of his seat dodging the blaster fire pointed at his direction. Sniper fire blasted from the other direction and Alek belatedly crawled across the ground, trying to find a weapon. He hadn't brought his pistol with him.

He felt a shot hit his leg and he screamed, clutching his right shin. He used telekinesis to fling a chair at where he sensed his attacker was. He heard a muffled grunt and then more fire poured his way just as he got clear of the smoke cloud. running through the snow covered fields, zig-zagging his way through headstones and monuments. He felt a shot rip through his left arm, screaming as he felt it come off at the elbow, the smell of cooked meat singing his nostrils and bringing him to the brink of vomiting.

He turned around, and spotted his attacker.

The Killer wore a dark grey jumpsuit and boots, easily purchased at any general store for yard or janitorial work. It was baggy and loose, obscuring the actual contours of the Killer's frame. Hands covered by black leather gloves held a small, squarish pistol with a five inch barrel length. It had a nickel finish and a black, three dot sighting system. The grip had mother of pearl panels covering it. Alek had only seen that type of weapon carried by officers in the Union Army. A large gas mask concealed the face and head, black in color.

The Killer took aim with the pistol, zeroing in on Alek's head. Alek closed his eyes. At least he'd have something lively to talk about when he ran into Revan in the afterlife.

Blaster fire from a tree-line to the south made the Killer duck, returning fire in that direction, the sniper fire continued, making the Killer take evasive action, diving between head stones and blind firing over them.

Alek tried to ease away from the firefight, bleeding badly. He didn't get a meter before he blacked out.

The Jedi in the meantime had finally gotten their act together, drawing their pistols and firing at the Killer, who retreated through the cemetery, sprinting through it and heading into a simple cube-shaped tomb of white marble with a smiling gargoyle perched over the entrance.

Vrook, bleeding from his left shoulder, drew his snub-nosed, revolver-like blaster of a dull grey color and fired.

"After 'im, boys! We got the fiend cornered!" he shouted. "YOU HEAR ME, MURDERER? ONLY WAY YOU LEAVE IS IN CUFFS OR A BLOODY PINE BOX!"

The standard-clothed Agents drew closer. "There's no where to run! It's over! Come out with your hands up!" one of the male Agents shouted.

The Killer's response was to lob a few more smoke grenades and a few flash bangs. The grenades landed astonishingly precise, and seemed to fly out all at once. The Killer had the Force, no question. The explosives fanned out in a wide direction, landing close to where Agents were gathered in clusters. They detonated a second later and amidst the smoke and confusion, all the Agents opened fire in the tomb, while the Killer rushed out of it, sprinting passed the confused men and women, tossing a few more smoke grenades in the direction of Revan's grave site, vanishing for a second time into a cloud of smoke. All the Agents rushed back to it, firing.

Vrook waited, keeping his pistol trained with his good arm. His eyes squinted, looking for movement.

Nothing. But his eyes did get an awful sight as the smoke cleared.

Kavar lay inert in the snow next to the small podium that had been set up. A good portion of his head lay scattered about in the snow, bright red portions of brain and skull heating the ice around them, All of the other Jedi in white robes lay dead in their seats, heads tilting backward, shot before they could rise. A good many of the other robed Jedi lay dead also, some having apparently gotten close to the Killer only to be gunned down at the last instant amidst the confusion. Two or three survivors lay amidst the pile, moaning in pain from multiple blaster wounds.

Zhar looked about the carnage, appalled.

"No way we won't get blamed for this," he whispered to Vrook. "War is inevitable now. Revan's followers will not let this go unavenged. We need a new plan."

"No kidding," Vrook answered as he signaled for Agents to start aiding the survivors, some heading toward where Alek had fallen.

Bastila had come to the Med-Center as soon as she heard. A skyscraper with a bell tower like design, carvings and reliefs of fish that seemed to swim up the magenta colored building. A prominent circular decal took up the top portion of the building, being that of a pink Zeltron woman with short black hair and burgundy colored eyes and an outgoing smile wearing a skimpy white nurse outfit and holding a rod with two snakes entwined around it over a person completely covered in bandages in a life support bed. The person in the bandages was giving the 'thumbs up' sign and winking at the viewer.

They had to take three transport shuttles to reach this place, and as it dropped her and Juhani off at the landing pad, they were rushing towards the waiting lobby, reaching the receptionists desk. The lobby was a sterile white, with painted strips on the white tiled floor that veered off into other sections of the facility.

The receptionist, a rusty-red droid with a football-shaped head with a torso that had a series of antenna's and large coils jutting out of its back that actually looked a bit sinister the more she and Juhani stared at it, swiveled its head in an unsettling fluid manner as it stood up from the desk.

"Query: Can this decommissioned military droid be of service to you, organic?" the droid asked in a cultured but slightly arrogant and clinical hiss.

Bastila looked the droid over. "What's a decommissioned military droid doing at a Med-Center reception desk?"

"Irritated answer: This droid was initially built to monitor Hyperspace Radio frequencies during the recent Mandalorian Conflicts. However, this droid's particular design was already close to nearing the end of it's usefulness in the military. I am an obsolete model. But rather than scrap me, the military decided to donate me as a gesture of good will to this Med-Center, where I now am forced to take calls and answer the annoying questions of annoying meatbags like yourself. Sarcastic query: Is there anything else you would like me to answer? Hypothesis: Perhaps you will ask me to recite the alphabet. Or count to ten. Bitter lamentation: Why won't anyone in this hospital ask me to take a blaster to my motivator and pull the trigger? If droids could drink liquor, I would be in need of a new liver by now."

"I like him. He's funny," Juhani commented.

"For a droid in charge of reception, you're shockingly unfriendly," Bastila remarked, hands on her hips.

"Insincere apology: I must express remorse for how I have treated you. Explanatory addendum: I have been...distressed, these past days."

"Oh? Why so?" Juhani asked.

"Answer: My hyperspace receivers have been picking up a powerful signal being broadcast across this entire section of the city, as well as a weaker one with a heavily encrypted carrier signal."

"Can't you just filter it out? Probably background noise. There must be all sorts of powerful signals being broadcast, not to mention encrypted ones," Bastila suggested, instincts yelling that she should be very interested in what the droid was telling her.

"Agreement: True. But these two signals are particularly distinct. One seems to be of extreme strength. Its purpose is unknown, and despite my best efforts, I have been unable to trace it. It bears similarities to the carrier signals transmitted by the weather monitoring satellites above Coruscant and to the Atmospheric Control Stations high in the sub-orbital range. I have compared it to what I know about known weather control communication procedure and I can confidently say that it is not a signal used by Government Authorities. It is heavily encrypted by means I am unfamiliar with. It also seems to be meant to jam some sort of tracking system of an unknown design, as I have detected specialized frequency patterns within the signal that suggest jamming, as not only do such frequencies in the signal jam my attempts to trace it, they would also jam something of a much greater sophistication."

"Why hasn't the Government tried to locate the source?" Bastila asked, now intently paying attention.

"Supposition: I believe they have tried. Though they are certainly not about to tell the public they have encountered a subversive communications technique vastly superior to their own methods. But the fact that it resembles the transmission signals used by the weather control is of high concern."

"Why?" Bastila wondered.

"Answer: Coruscant relies on the weather control system to keep the planet habitable. Without the control system, The planet would boil its inhabitants alive due to the excess heat caused by covering virtually every square inch of the planet with heat producing buildings, excess build up of contaminants, and other assorted inconveniences of modern living. Sarcastic query: You DO realize that if somebody could gain control of the system, they might literally hold the fate of the planet in their hands? What if they decided to turn up the heat or even cool things down? Life would become very difficult. I believe this has already happened. Look outside. Surely by now you've noticed the snowstorm that doesn't seem to end. Why would a place like Coruscant even need a snowstorm?"

Bastila frowned. She couldn't say why, but her gut told her that whatever was affecting the weather was distinctly tied into her own investigation.

"What about second carrier signal? The weaker one?" Juhani asked.

"Answer: That...is an interesting problem also. Unlike the other one, no attempt as been made to disguise it, yet it is very faint, but with a hidden frequency pattern. It seems to be transmitting a series of military code words, but the pattern in which they are transmitted do not seem to correspond to any discernible military purpose, and the hidden frequency of the signal is so complex that I do not have the software to decode it."

"Can you play it for us?" Bastila requested.

"Confirmation: I can loop it through my vocorder. Please wait..."

After a moment, a faint hissing noise emitted from his vocorder. It grew slightly easier to hear, until a garbled harsh electronic voice called out from the airwaves...

"Forgiveness...Restitution...Echo...Echo..." the electronic voice blared faintly and unsettlingly. "Forgiveness...Restitution...Echo...Echo..."


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, that's creepy," Juhani noted uneasily. "But what does it mean?"

The Hyperspace comlink suddenly beeped. Bastila pulled out the small device and switched it on.

"Go ahead, Dradus," she spoke.

"Capture was a bust. How are things on your end?"

"Dradus, do you know that there are two broadcast signals of extremely high encryption sophistication being transmitted through the airwaves, and no one in the government has been able to decode it?"

"Interesting, go on."

"I'm wondering whether or not they are related to your own investigation."

"Hold on, I'm adjusting your comlink from my end to detect encrypted signals that use my universe's technology...done. Hmmm..."

"What's that mean?"

"It means get back here as soon as you both are done with whatever it is you're caught up in," Mocke answered.

"Got it," Bastila replied, turning back to the strange rusty red droid that made her uncomfortable.

"Do you know where in the building Officer Alek is hospitalized?"

"Obviously suspicious query: You are here to question him about the recent cemetery shootings?"

"Yes. May we see him?" Bastila asked.

"Irresponsibly dismissive permission: I'm bored. Terribly bored. I'll let you through. He's in room 6 on the fourth floor. Take the turbo lift down," the droid instructed.

The pair nodded and headed to the turbo lift, as the box slid down the shaft of the building, Juhani turned to Bastila.

"Why does it seem like the more we know, the less we know?" she asked her friend.

"This case has gotten way more complicated than I thought. Who was the shooter at the cemetery? Was the shooter connected to Revan's murder? And if so, how? Who were the other two people in that apartment?"

"I have a theory: The prisoners Dradus is chasing were working with Revan."

Bastila eyed her. "What makes you say that?"

Juhani sighed and leaned against the walls of the lift.

"Think about it: You weren't there to guide him, and I doubt that this universe's version of Jedi Council would let him anywhere near the statue more than they had to. And he grew powerful enough that the Union trusted him. That is what does not fit. Remember how Jedi are treated here? With suspicion. They are kept on a tight rein by government watchdogs. Why would they suddenly let one of them have any real authority? Someone has either been coaching him in politics, keeping people off his back, or both. I think the prisoners have something to do with this."

"Something I'll be sure to keep in mind when I grill Alek. He has to know something," Bastila replied, eyes flashing orange. "I'll drag the truth out of him screaming if I have to."

"Be mindful of power Bastila," Juhani warned. "I heard you been getting a little...wild with it, lately."

"Heard about Deralia, eh?" Bastila asked.

"Everyone heard about Deralia, what with you turning the place into zombie film," Juhani replied. "And burning down Sith Academy there. And crashing Sith capital ships into each other. And nearly killing Malak by making him strangle himself."

"He had it coming, Juhani. All the Sith do. Never forget that."

"What happened to that whole bit about how no one deserves execution?"

"Simple, Juhani," Bastila answered casually. "I wasn't taking prisoners."

"Heh," Juhani chuckled.

"Wake up, Alek." Bastila ordered.

Alek stirred in his life support bed. His missing arm had managed to be reattached by the doctors. The patient wing was a pleasing light green color, and elaborate paintings of cherry blossoms decorated the walls and ceiling with beautiful flame-like brushstrokes.

The pain killers did wonders for Alek's temperament.

"Why, hello, ladies. May I ask why the Agency sent you two?" he asked, his synthesizer betraying his mellow mood.

"Agency didn't send us, Alek," Bastila replied, pulling a chair from a nearby desk and sitting down next to him, crossing her legs. "It is us, Alek. The 'other' Bastila and Juhani."

"Hey, you two. Long time no see!" he replied happily. "Please excuse my mood. These painkillers are wonderful. You should try some!"

"Where can we get it, just out of curiosity?" Juhani asked.

Bastila shot her a look.

"What? A gals got to unwind now and then," the cather woman replied.

Bastila shook her head in an annoyed manner. "We've come to ask you about the shooting. Can you tell us what happened?"

"Oh," he spoke, suddenly quite glum. "That. Bastard came out of nowhere. Suddenly there was smoke and shooting. Got a good look. Covered in a gas mask, a coat and overalls. Easily disposable. Shot up all of Revan's closest followers. The so-called masters. We got Kavar to a hospital, but he was dead within minutes from internal trauma to the brain. Some survived though. And boy, are they ever pissed."

"Who do you think it was?" Juhani asked.

"Couldn't say. Whoever it was though, they had Agency training, and they were good. Had an army officer's pistol to boot. Saw a lot of people carry that though in the conflicts with the Mandalorians. Now Revan's followers are accusing the commissioner board of an organized conspiracy to kill them all off. War...is inevitable unless we catch the killer soon," Alek responded tiredly.

"Do you believe that there is a conspiracy on the part of the Senior Investigators?" Bastila inquired pointedly.

"Well...thing is, it really isn't that farfetched. They don't like us, Bastila. They've stated it plainly and often enough. There were a couple of times during the war that some of them deliberately called in artillery strikes way too close to members of Revan's faction. Some of us still have the shrapnel in our bodies. But if they wanted to kill us off, there would be far simpler ways. They could simply declare us all in violation of the FSA and arrest us, send us to prison, do whatever they like after that. But with these assassinations, it is like someone is trying to start a war between our factions. Vandar was murdered also, and the investigators think we did it."

"If it came to war, do you believe Revan's side would win?"

"Not necessarily. We may have greater control over the Force, but standard protocol Agents have the support of the government. And the Government has ALWAYS been scared of people like us. They think we're always plotting to overthrow them. In this case, they may not be too far off from the truth."

"You'd actually support government overthrow?"

"We'll never be allowed to do any real good with our powers under the present system. At the very least, I'd support overturning the Force Sensitivity Act. Thing is, if Revan's Jedi Knights rebel-and lose-the Government might enact even harsher measures against us, such as preventing Force Users from breeding or making the fetus undergo automatic screening and gene therapy to prevent sensitivity."

"Are things really that bad here?!" Juhani asked, taking a step back out of shock.

"It could easily get worse," Alek replied, staring back at her with dull drugged eyes. "That's the other reason Revan wanted all Jedi to know the Force-he wanted to prove we could be trusted. That we didn't need watchdogs." Then he looked up at Bastila. "You've got to help us. If things come to war, I want to know that the Jedi Knights can depend on your wisdom."

Bastila hesitated. "I...I don't think I can promise that Alek. My duty is to uphold order and civilization if it is threatened. Your Jedi Knights, whatever their merits, are also a source of discord and strife. You were never meant to have these powers. You must know that. I'm surprised you would even ask, considering it was your deceptions with me that caused part of the problem to begin with."

"Revan's deceptions, not mine. We did what had to be done," Alek replied with as much authority as the drugs in his system would allow. "Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you feel more connection with Jedi who are afraid of the Force, than with Knights who know its power and want to use it to build a great civilization? Sure, the Agency proper did their part to stop the Mandalorians-but only because they weren't given a choice, and they hated Revan and those like him for it every step of the way. Even when they wound up being good at winning, or being better than Revan's faction is some instances. Especially in those instances. We wanted to be brothers and sisters in the Force. They rejected our offer to unite as family in every instance."

"Jedi do not have families," Bastila spoke out of rote. "Families have love, and Jedi are not to love, lest they fall to the Dark Side."

"That's not how Revan taught it. He said that it is love that makes us more powerful, love of others makes us able to take the beating."

"Then he was a fool! Did he remember nothing that I told him?" Bastila spat in contempt, conveniently ignoring how she had achieved final victory the last time she had been here.

"Bastila, if you help us, it could mean the difference between eternal submission and a chance to let the Jedi teachings flower! I know, for whatever reasons of your own, you've no great affection for me or Revan-perhaps we remind you too much of someone-" Alek said grabbing her hand. "But whatever you've got against me, don't hold it against the rest of the knights. If not for me, do it for them. They just want to do good with it, I swear..."

Bastila pulled her hand out of his unwanted grasp like it was a snake bite. After all this, she still regarded him as nothing but a potential Darth Malak. Not that she was going to tell him that. No point giving him ideas.

Once she had regained her composure, she stared at him impassively.

"Did Revan have any special advisors. Anyone who stood out?"

Alek blinked, thinking a moment.

"Matter of fact, he did. I was a field leader, not much of a planner. But he had a lady in a white robe with a hood. Never saw her face. There was also an old woman, looked familiar-"

"Kreia?" Bastila asked, teeth grinding together.

If Alek saw her stress, he did not comment on it. "Yeah, I think that was her name. Think she used to be Revan's old training officer. Don't know why he'd dig her up though. Woman's a fossil. Heard she got thrown out for drinking on the job."

"Was drinking on the Job what cost her a hand?" Bastila pressed, knowing the story that "Old Lady K" had told her the last time she was here to be a bald faced lie. This lie gave her a theory, but she needed to confirm it by hearing Alek's answer.

Alek thought a moment before he spoke. "She hadn't lost a limb when she left the agency, come to think about it."

"And when did she leave?"

"Six years ago, I think. Why?"

Bastila stood up. "Thank you Alek. You've given me a lead. I'll be in touch. Do you know where Kreia lives now?"

"No, really. She dropped off the map a few months before the war ended," Alek replied, sitting up in bed and wincing. "What do you mean you have a lead?"

Bastila's eye twitched, and the intravenous machine that administered painkillers sent another dose into him. He slumped back with a pleased voice. "Never mind," he spoke happily.

"Good boy," she said, getting her com-link. "Dradus, you there?"

"Go ahead," a rough, concord dawn accent replied. "What have you learned?

"I think I may have identified one of your missing prisoners. Did the Dark Peregrine carry any versions of Kreia aboard?"

"Let me check," Dradus grumbled. He spoke a second later. "No. There were no versions of Kreia aboard that flight."

Bastila blinked in surprise. "W-what? Are you sure?"

"I checked it twice. None."

"That doesn't make sense. I'm positive that there is a Kriea here who killed and replaced this universe's version of her. And she also killed one other person."

"If you're right, than how would she have gotten here, and do you know who the second victim was?"

"A woman in her early thirties, but other than that, nothing," the Padawan answered glumly.

"Huh. Get back here soon. I'll need your help for something."

The pair soon arrived at Mocke's hideout, the musty smell of the abandoned factory belied the highly advanced tech he had stored there.

"The large signal the computers are analyzing is heavily encrypted, but there is a massive amount of data being fed through. No doubt my universe's tech is being used," the masked Jedi spoke gruffly. "the smaller, weaker signal however, lit up a red flag in the systems. He turned to the central table, where a holoprojector had been set up. "Computer, initiate playback."

A rectangular box shimmered into existence, and the visual up-and-down lines representing sound waves flitted across the box.

"Forgiveness...Restitution...Echo...Echo..." a garbled electronic voice hauntingly blared. "Forgiveness...Restitution...Echo...Echo..."

"That's a series of code words used in my universe to indicate that a breach into-or from-a banned universe is occurring. It's an emergency signal used in only the most dire of multiversal contamination scenarios. It's about five years old, and it's been going on all this time, while Force-knows-what was seeping into this dimension," Dradus spoke slowly, hints of genuine fear in his voice for the first time."

"How bad does a universe have to be to get banned?" Juhani asked.

"Like I said, it has to contain one or more individuals that pose such an intolerable threat to the multiverse, that their escape could prove a catastrophe. Hell, we almost banned your dimension because of Darth Sangraal, and only relented because you have people powerful enough to oppose her. But the banned ones often contain versions of the Sith Order-and sometimes, even versions of the Jedi-too powerful to be stopped via ordinary means. Computer, decrypt signal."

The holoprojector replaced the sound-box with a set of numbers and the word BANNED FOR TRAVEL flashing in red in front of the digits.

When Dradus saw the numbers he drew a sharp, involuntary breath. "It's even worse than I thought. Universe 18-86."

"Why so bad?" Juhani wondered, scratching her furry chin.

"It uses technology that a fan of certain genres of fiction might refer to as 'Steam punk'."

"Why's that bad?"

"Steam-based technology is arcane and dangerous...capable of effects just as impressive as my universe's own tech. But the real reason is that where that sort of technology holds sway, so to will more unnatural aspects of the Force act through individuals. In this case...vampires. Lots of vampires. Maybe even some were-wolves. All Jedi."

"But if they're Jedi, why should we be worried? They might be willing to aid us if we explain our situation," Bastila suggested.

"These aren't your tree hugging 'let's forgive our most hated foe' kind of Jedi, Shan. These are the 'Lets drain the life-force of criminals in front of horrified onlookers' kind of Jedi. Their view of good and evil is so total and absolute that they've been known to kill men simply for stealing. They get into this universe, they'll have a field day bringing their version of 'Order'."

"What makes you think they aren't already here?" Juhani asked, pacing in discomfort.

"Because I wouldn't dial within two digits of this Universe if I thought they were," Dradus answered. "They also like the cold, which would explain the endless snowstorms this version of Coruscant has been having. But that alone would not explain the massive amount of data they're sending through the large signal. Whoever is orchestrating this is planning something huge. An invasion, possibly. We have to know for sure."

"Don't tell me," Bastila began. "We're going to take a little trip."

"Yeah. Into 18-86," Dradus answered. "Be on your guard. I...I've heard stories. Stuff that would make even a knight of a smiling forest pause."

"Where we going to, exactly?" Juhani asked, folding her arms and pacing.

"The Great Jedi Castle on Coruscant, abandoned since the Jedi strike teams of 89-67 laid waste to it."

Bastila paused. "Jedi fought Jedi?" she asked uncomfortably.

"It happens sometimes. Your own version of the Order is dangerous enough that if 89-67 ever had to order an aggressive incursion, we'd expect to take extensive losses," Mocke replied, "Most of your knights could be considered frontline shock troops."

"But what about developments here?" Juhani questioned, brows drawing together tightly.

"The killer isn't going anywhere. And tensions will only get worse whether you are here or not," Mocke dismissed with a wave. Then he turned around "Computer, emergency code nine-thirteen override. Temporary ban lift of travel to 18-86."

"Authorization granted," the computer replied inside his helmet.

A shimmering, gold rimmed portal appeared on a gray wall next to them, activated by hidden projectors.

Bastila peered into the portal She could see a cobblestone street lined by antiquated looking lamp posts with simple electric lights. It was snowing gently from the cloudy grey sky.

"Just stick with me," Dradus said, turning around. "One more thing. Turn in you light sabers."

"Like hell," Juhani snapped.

"You don't get it, do you? Where we're going, they don't like Jedi!" Dradus snapped. "They see us with a light saber, they will kill us! The Republic there lived in fear of the Order. After 89-67 liberated them, they passed a law decreeing that all surviving Jedi were to be rounded up and have a crystal stake put through their hearts. We are not popular. Your light sabers!"

Bastila and Juhani sighed and tossed him their weapons. Dradus took them and placed them on the table. He had them both take off their coats and fake Agency badges and masks, saying that their basic clothing allowed them to fit in better. He had no criticisms for his own clothes, but then again he didn't have any identifying symbols on him.

"Follow me, he said, tossing them two blaster pistols. He carried his long sword in his right hand as they all stepped through.

18-86( WARNING, WARNING, BANNED FOR TRAVEL), Coruscant, Close to sealed Jedi District.

It was not the archaic buildings constructed out of super strong Dura-Cement that caught Bastila off guard, nor was it the great buildings with a coating of dura-bronze seemingly arching over them in the sky, lined with great brass pipes that sometimes belted out jets of steam. No, what caught her eye was the vehicles.

They had been shaped to resemble a carriage, drawn by a mechanical horse painted in bronze, with a set of pipes atop its back, the belly was transparent on the side, with a swirling tornado of water constantly bubbling in a glass chamber. The pipes atop the horse whistled as they "galloped" across the sky with special repulsor lift feet. The carriages she spotted came in many colors as they did a slower version of the hustle and bustle traffic Coruscant was famous for.

The wall that loomed just down the street was immense, and constructed of brick. No vehicle, she noticed went past that point. On it was a very large sign in white posted in black cursive letter SEALED FOR YOUR PROTECTION BY THE LAWFUL ORDER OF THE FAIR AND JUST REPUBLIC. Bastila could spot patrolmen in long red overcoats and a yellow top hat carrying what seemed to be a small bronze pistol that had a smaller version of the horse's water chamber set into the grip.

The Castle was large and black, a square, central tower surrounded by three white spires all descending from the other, the large, oval windows looked smashed out and the building bore signs of turbo laser impact sites against the walls. it was slightly taller than the other skyscrapers.

Dradus signaled for everyone to follow into an alley way. Bastila spotted, of all things, what ancient people's had referred to as a "newspaper" billowing gently across the ground, on it read the lines FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF JEDI OVERTHROW MOMENT OF SILENCE TODAY.

Dradus waited for the patrolmen to continue down the street and turn into another before he let them all go.

"See that sealed wall?" Dradus asked, "Erected after 89-67 pacified the area. Just beyond it is the Jedi Castle. Place was left uninhabited after we won. I heard the Republic didn't even clean up the mess."

"How do you know so much about this place?" Bastila asked

"Fought here. That pacification mission I told you about? I was the one who led it," Mocke admitted. "I swore I'd never come back here if I could help it."

The three moved swiftly through the street, and as they reached the wall, Dradus pulled out a small, flash light like device and aimed a wide, blue light at the brick wall.

The wall hissed contorted, an invisible ripple stretching it open at a point and allowing a clear view of the ash and blast covered other side.

"Neat," Juhani noted as they all went through. Dradus flashed the hole again with his device and it closed right up.

The houses and buildings on the other side looked to be in an advanced state of disrepair, wood rotting and ceilings and walls collapsed, tell tale blaster and light saber scorch marks were everywhere.

"I remember this place. This is where the incursion first pulled through. We marched through the streets, evacuating people from their homes. They listened because they were scared. And then the artillery strikes began. We woke every last one of them up from their glass coffins when the turbo lasers hit. They poured out like locusts. Managed at first to push us back," Dradus recalled more to himself then the other two. "Their steam powered light foils ripped through our finest armor and shields, suddenly it resembled some type of ancient feud on a primitive world, their pike men lancing us with a vengeance..."

Universe 18-86, Coruscant, Siege of the Great Castle. Several years prior...

Dradus Mocke dived behind an overturned vehicle as he and his comrades advanced against the lethal defenders.

White Oak Avenue, the locals had called it, a mashed together hodgepodge row of old wood and brick houses divided by a cobble stone street, the taverns and parks were now ablaze. Most of the windows had been smashed out in the fighting of hours previous. Smoke choked the cramped streets from the non stop firing of the Castle's artillery cannons.

Dradus' solid black armored robes were caked with dirt and blood that hung to his attire like an unwanted liquid rust, the chest and back draped with a grey cloth that went to his knees bearing the Order's battle standard. His entire head covered by a black, angular helmet with a pointy, jutted out visor and a thin blue strip across it that served as the environmental sensor. He hefted his black long sword, guarding against his foe, a thin, pale man grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed in a dark brown one piece robe that went to his ankles. The collar had one white square in the middle that bore the dark brown, stitched in symbol a rapier surrounded by six wings. The man's face looked carved from thick white ice, irises two loops of bright marble, the whites of his eyes a dark brown lined with veins of green. His hair was cut close to the scalp, dark in color. He held in his hand the weapon his version of the Order favored above all others. It was smaller in thickness and in length compared to regular hilts. It had the finish of blue enamel, a gilded iron basket hilt with a small bottle of swirling liquid attached to it, and also set into the basket part was what appeared to be a small pressure gauge. The blade was of standard length, an aura of sunset around it pleasing to the eye, but thinner than a pencil.

The Light foil a.k.a. The Gentleman's Light saber has many origins in multiple universes. It is also notorious for requiring strategy and a combination of aggression, defense and deception, even for masters of light saber combat. As such, it is only studied by the most dedicated of warriors.

The fact that the entire order of this particular dimension chose it told him something about them, and it wasn't good. They were well trained, opportunistic and cunning.

Then again, so was Dradus.

The enemy Jedi thrust the sunset colored blade at his chest, forcing him to parry and swing his weapon vertically in a counter-move.

The foil user flitted in an out of his reach, his own tip ever seeking the weak areas in Mocke's armor. Mocke let the rushing, flickering tip of the blade slide past him, guiding the blade with both his hands, driving into the chest of the pale Jedi, who howled in pain as Mocke shoved the sword in deeper, piercing the heart. This did not kill the Jedi, but it made him howl even louder, as Mocke impaled the Jedi to the street, removing the small steel bottle shaped like a golf ball with a long stem. A small cork was jammed into its mouth, which Dradus promptly pulled out.

The Jedi screamed as Dradus let a drop of blue liquid hit the forehead. Fissures appeared in the face and head, and spread into the rest of the body, burning lines in his clothes as they spread. He erupted in a burst of blue flame, screaming in agony, before the blue fire ate everything, including the ashes.

Dradus moved down the street, not taking note of his victory as he caught up to other men wearing a white version of his armor.

"Report?" he asked.

"We caught them off guard, sir," one of the knights answered. "They're falling back, trying to tighten up defense around the castle."

Mocke couldn't even see the castle, the air and streets congested with smoke as they were. Bombs and artillery had tore the place apart in the few hours they had been fighting. He could still here the nonstop blaster fire of Republic Rifleman cracking in the distance.

The Republic of this dimension had finally had enough. The Order had shed blood openly on the streets for years in pursuit of their brand of justice, and often in broad daylight. Republic scientists own desperate research into interdimensional travel had led to them encountering 89-67, where 18-86's government practically begged for help in getting rid of 'their' Jedi.

89-67 had obliged, seeing a significant threat to the multiverse should 18-86's version of the Jedi gain access to their government's newly developed trans-dimensional tech.

89-67 had thrown in a massive effort, pouring into the dimension on multiple worlds, assisted by what seemed to be the entire Republic military. It had been a total surprise attack, month's in the making, and now only the Castle was left as the final stronghold.

"Get Artillery on the horn. I want the entire immediate area surrounding the castle shelled and-"

"GUYS!" one knight called out, running from a long stretch of the street. "RUUUNNN! They've overwhelmed our checkpoints!"

"Aw, damn," Mocke snapped, readying his sword as he saw the swarm of enemy Jedi approaching with active light-foils.

They're leader was someone he had no trouble identifying. She wore a long tan dress that went down to her ankles and clung to her frame, her hair was done into large braids that drooped gently from either side of the back of her head. Her face was beautiful and bore a hint of mischeif to her smooth, rouded features. Her eyes were just like that of the Jedi he had killed previously.

"Scanning...identified. Bastila Shan variant encountered. Excercise extreme caution!" his helmet computer blared.

"Onward!" Bastila called out, raising her own yellow lightfoil above her head. "Drive the sinners back! Let their life-force not be used to pervert justice any further!"

The Swarm shouted and charged...


End file.
